I Wrote Harry Potter
by Not Bingo
Summary: Is the title not enough? ....what would you do if you went back in time?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: First of all, a little disclaimer to stop any confusion over the title. i did not write Harry Potter, and i am not JK Rowling (obviously!) so all credits go to her. However, this is not exactly a typical fanfic. It is an original story with an original plot and original characters. The reason it is on FanFiction is because i do not have JKR's permission to write a story about her story, and since it is very involved with her own i dont think it would be appropriate to put it on FictionPress. However, it has little or no manipulation of her actual story itself, so glad we got that clear :] Hope everyone enjoys it anyway! A little light'n easy story for everyone that will hopefully make you laugh. Dont forget to review! Thanks.**

* * *

**I Wrote Harry Potter**

_**Chapter One:**_

I am not a very nice person.

I know, you're probably thinking, like, what a way to introduce myself and all that, but it's true. I'm not. I mean, I'd like to be, honest, but I just … can't.

And I can prove I'm not nice too. As you delve further into this story, you will see me lying, cheating, even stealing, with no qualms or troubles about it.

Just so we're clear.

I mean, if there's one thing I pride myself on it's how to-the-point I am. I freely admit my faults. Probably because all I've got _are_ faults, but still.

Anyway, moving on, now that we've gone past the whole attitude thing …

My name is Lara.

I'm about fourteen. I say 'about' because I'm honestly not sure anymore, what with my little adventure you're about to hear about.

And that's about all you need to know. For now.

So anyway, here I was, at my brother's football ( soccer if you're American, although I still say football makes much more sense as the name of the game, to be honest ) game, dressed in jeans and a baggy jacket with my pyjama top underneath ( oh, another thing about me: I'm really, really lazy. And in case you're thinking throughout the story I'll change and become a nice, energetic person you might as well stop reading now. You're going to be stuck with me like this for a lo-oo-ong time—well, depending on how long I feel like writing this, anyway ), and listening to my iPod.

My brother's a really big football person. He's about as nice as I am, but just because he can _kick a ball_, he's got like a zillion more friends than I do, and no-one says a thing when he acts stupid or annoying like I do. _Just_ because he scored a few goals at a couple of games. He's so 'good' at kicking the dang ball he's actually got a nickname.

They call him '' Champ.'' As in, like, Champion.

And you know what's really sad?

I'm the only one who makes fun of it and calls him Chump.

So sad, really.

Chump is my twin, but we're not identical. He's about an inch shorter than me and he's got big brown eyes and black hair. Whereas I've got dark-grey eyes and brown hair. And yeah, I got the clumsy gene. I'm officially the clumsiest person on earth. I could trip and bang my head reading a _book_. In _bed_!

Seriously, life is so unfair.

'' Hey, Lara!'' yelled one of Chump's friends as the ball they were using for their practice game rolled off the field and came to a stop in front of me. It was covered in mud and icky grass.

'' What?'' I yelled back.

'' Get the ball!''

I scowled. Get the ball, get the ball. That's all I ever do. And with my luck, something inevitably happens to me while I'm _getting the ball_.

'' Get the ball _what_?'' I said in that irritating way I had.

'' Lara!'' groaned Chump. His friend glared at me.

'' I didn't hear the magic word ... ''

Chump's friend looked like he'd rather swallow the ball, but he glared daggers at me some more and growled,'' Get the ball, Lara, _please_.''

I sighed.'' Now that wasn't so hard, was it?''

'' Lara ...'' whined half the team impatiently, as if the world could not go round without a ball.

'' Fine!'' I snapped and bent down to get the stupid, muddy ball. I had just grabbed it and was about to throw it back to the team when, believe it or not, disaster struck. The muddy thing slipped out between my fingers and plopped back into the mud. So, naturally, I lost my patience and prepared to kick it back to them instead, and just as I straightened up and raised my foot to kick—

Some complete _idiot_ playing around with a Pepsi can aimed it at his friend, missed, and the next thing I knew I was staring at the sky, flat on my back, with a crumpled metal can next to me and a lump the size of Mt. Everest on my forehead.

See? See what I mean about my luck?

Chump came to fetch the ball himself, laughing so hard he couldn't walk straight, and then he took his ball and tossed it back to his friends, still chortling.

'' Man, Lara,'' he snorted between giggles.'' Talk about karma!''

'' Shut up,'' I hissed as I scrambled upwards to stand up. And you know what? I slipped and fell back onto the ground. Chump burst into more laughter and helped me up, then he went back to his friends. I sat once more on the wooden bench, fuming as I watched.

I was thinking as I watched Chump kick the sacred ball. I was thinking, as one does, how, if I could go back in time, I'd stop myself from straightening up to kick the ball, so the can wouldn't hit me, and then I wouldn't have been on the ground …

The funny thing was, when I _did_ go back in time, that was the last thing on my mind.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

The idea of going back in time stayed stuck in my brain, for some reason. Whenever I watched TV, I would think, '' If I went back in time, I'd audition for this show and be rich,'' or if I listened to a song, I'd think,'' If I went back in time, I'd write this song before anyone else and be a superstar.'' Stuff like that.

You cant really blame me. I'm so untalented and helpless, the only way I'm ever going to make it big in life is if I cheat.

Now if only I could find a UFO and visit a planet that has never heard of pizza, or Rihanna, I could introduce them to it and take the credit for it! I'd be like—legendary.

The pizza part, I mean. Not Rihanna. Although if they hadn't heard of the umbrella either …

Oops. Ranting. So anyway, back to my so-far-pathetic story.

I was having dinner, later that day, when my mother reminded me to take out the trash.

'' What?'' I demanded, my voice rising several octaves in my indignance.

'' You heard me,'' my mother sounded bored. She's a lawyer, so reasoning with her is like asking a rock to break. And she doesn't like lawyer jokes, either. She's a very no-nonsense woman, actually. And she looks it, too. She's always wearing black, grey, or navy blue, and her hair is always scraped back into a bun. And she rarely smiles. She smiles on three occasions: When Chump wins a game, when she wins a case and when my dad gives her her newest credit card.

You notice who she never smiles at?

Exactly.

'' Ma,'' I said, choosing my words carefully.'' I'm afraid I misheard. It seems to me you just asked your crippled, injured daughter to go out, in the bitter cold, carrying massively heavy, germ-infested smelly black bags and then lift the lid off huge, rusty, ice-cold metal containers and then in a magnificent, incredible show of strength _toss_ the massively heavy germ-infested smelly black bags into them so that the garbage people can pick them up tomorrow and throw them somewhere and contribute to the pollution of our environment?''

'' Oh, so you _did_ hear,'' said my mother dryly, raising an eyebrow at me and putting Chump some spaghetti.

I blinked.

'' But I'm injured!'' I gestured to the lump on my forehead with my spoon, splattering sauce everywhere.'' I cant go out there! Or exert effort in … any way …''

My voice trailed off as my mother gave me a stern, no-nonsense look. The look she gave the criminals she cross-examined sometimes.

'' Lara, it's your turn to take out the trash and that's my final word on the subject.''

Chump gave me a gleeful, smug look. My dad was at work, so he wasn't there to grunt and say nothing the way he usually did. I glared at him.

So once dinner was over, I picked up the first two of our enormous black garbage bags and began dragging them out the back door gloomily, wishing I could go back in time and avoid taking a second helping so mom wouldn't have had a chance to order me to take out the trash. I sighed. Consequences, consequences.

I reached the end of our backyard, where the big, metal cans awaited me, and started hauling the garbage into the first can.

And that was when I saw the strange little ant.

Normally I wouldn't notice an ant, but this one was just crying for attention. For one thing, it was crawling up my index finger.

For another, it was bright blue.

Fortunately, when I am dazed and confused, I do not look too deeply into the science of things and wonder how on earth the ant is bright blue and so on. I just take it in stride and remind myself to freak out later. So I just started shaking the ant off my finger.

It wouldn't come off!

I shook, I flicked, I waved, I blew. The ant remained stubbornly stuck to my finger, even though I shook my hand so rapidly it got numb.

I blew harder at it, blowing up my cheeks until they ached and letting it all out in a huff worthy of the Big Bad Wolf.

And then the ant squeaked,'' Hey! Don't spit on me!''

'' Sorry,'' I said automatically.

I was hauling the second bag into the can when it hit me.

'' Oh my God!'' I yelped in surprise, peering at the blue ant still stuck to my finger.'' Oh, my _God_, did you just _talk_?''

'' Took you long enough,'' said the ant sarcastically and my eyes widened at it.

'' Whoa.''

The ant suddenly started moving, crawling off my finger and onto the silver garbage can as I watched, open-mouthed, and seriously doubting my own sanity.

The ant was now crawling down the side of the can, defying gravity as ants do. Finally, when it reached the ground, it said,'' Please look away.''

'' Why?'' I asked, still stunned.

'' Because I don't like talking as an ant, you're far too big that way, so I'm going to need to shape-shift so we can have a proper conversation. And shape-shifting usually makes humans nauseous, so I'd rather avoid a situation where you could possibly barf on me.''

'' Unnnhhh … '' I said dazedly, but obeyed. It occurred to me as I did it I was taking orders from an _ant_.

There was a bright glow behind me, and then the ant's voice said,'' You can look now.''

I spun around and stared. Now I wasn't just doubting my sanity, I was wondering where the heck it was.

The ant had turned into a bright blue little girl. To be fair, her skin was a regular colour. But her eyes, hair and clothes were entirely blue. She looked about six or seven years old.

'' Hello, Lara!'' she said brightly, but her expression was bored, as though she was just going through the motions.

'' Hi … er. Blue girl,'' I muttered confusedly.

'' Oh, right. My name's Jeanie,'' she told me after a pause.

'' Genie?''

'' Well, that did come from my name, but no, Jeanie. With a J.''

'' Oh. Okay.''

Like I cared how she spelled her name. Honestly.

'' Let's stop beating around the bush,'' began Jeanie with a frown, her tone business-like.'' We haven't got all day. But anyway, Lara, you need to listen, and listen well.''

I hadn't even known we were beating about the bush. Whatever that meant. And I hoped she wasn't going to get all business-like just yet, because I honestly wasn't absorbing much yet.

'' You have been chosen,'' she announced gravely, like I knew what she was talking about.

'' Huh?'' I said blankly. She looked exasperated.

Well, one thing I do say about myself is that I'm pretty good at exasperating people.

'' You have been chosen to go back in time.''

Ooh, now this was interesting, if completely unbelievable.

'' Excuse me?''

Jeanie looked bored. Oh, wait, that means her expression didn't change.

'' You have been chosen to go back in time,'' she repeated, slowly, as if she were talking to a three-year-old. Which was actually fine for me.'' Every generation, we in charge of the timeline grant people a single opportunity to go back in time for a month. You have been chosen for this generation.''

'' Why me?''

'' Why not you?''

'' Because it's like way too coincidential that the very same day I'd been thinking of time travel I get to actually do it?''

'' It's not coincidential if you look at it the other way around,'' said Jeanie impatiently.'' The person chosen thinks of time travel occasionally. Big deal.''

I frowned but let it go, because Jeanie kind of intimidated me. Add coward to my list of not-so-great qualities.

'' Why do you let us go back?''

'' Because. For reasons of our own. Call it research.''

I frowned again. The blue brat was about as specific as a needle in a haystack. Whatever that means.

'' When do I go back in time to?''

'' Whenever you wish.''

Ooh, this is interesting too. I could go back to like, ten thousand BC. Then I'd be in the movie!

Okay, that was an errant and stupid thought that is better left unvoiced. Good thing I didn't say that aloud. Jeanie dearest would have eaten me alive.

'' Do I go alone?''

'' Obviously, that is what ' _single_ opportunity' seems to imply.''

'' Uh. Right. So anyway, I can do whatever I want for a month in the past?''

'' Short of killing yourself, yes.''

'' And when I come back here, will the time have passed for a month with me disappeared, or does time seem to freeze—?''

'' You'll see.''

'' What kind of an answer is that?'' I cried indignantly. Jeanie ignored me. She bent down and picked up something from the ground: a stick.

'' This is your time-traveling device,'' she said quickly.'' I haven't got much time, so I'm going to make it brief. To go back in time, you must grab this stick and wish for yourself to be in the desired time. You must also say the words,' Agrabadacabra' for the journey to pass safely back and in a month's time, home again. Now—''

I wasn't really listening. I was thinking of my luck again. A stick. Some people would get a glamorous time-traveling diamond to go back in time. Some would get a big, fancy machine.

I got a _stick_.

Jeanie seemed to be shaking me. Hard. Her eyes were wide and panicked, and she was saying,'' No! I need more time! Not yeeeeeeee—''

I blinked, and very strangely, when my eyes opened again I was lying on my back, being shaken roughly and staring at the sky. Chump was leaning over me, looking concerned.

'' Are you okay, Lara?'' he asked anxiously and I frowned, utterly confused.

'' Where am I ?'' I demanded.'' Where's Jeanie?''

'' What genie?'' Chump panicked slightly.'' Oh, darn, don't tell me the fall affected your mind! Mom's gonna kill me!''

Fall? What fall?

'' What fall?'' I squeaked.

'' You were getting us the ball,'' blurted Chump worriedly.'' And a can hit you in the forehead, so you fell, and when you were getting up you slipped again and bumped your head and you've been out ever since, for about five minutes. Are you sure you're okay?''

A dream. It had all been a dream.

Just my luck to dream about stupid blue ants!

'' I'm fine,'' I said wearily, struggling to sit up. I was still dressed in jeans, a baggy jacket and my pyjama top, so I guessed I really had been dreaming about it all. Unless I'd gone back in time to now! The thought hit me and my eyes widened, then I remembered I hadn't grabbed any stick or even wanted to come back to this time, so the possibility of this being my back-in-time deal, if it had even existed, were very small.

'' Are you really sure you're fine?'' said Chump again and I scowled as I finally sat up and nodded.

'' Yes, already!''

'' Okay then,'' Chump sounded relieved, and a second later he was back on the field, kicking his stupid ball.

And I was wondering what on earth I'd eaten to have such a weird dream.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

I completely forgot about the incident in a few days. For a few weeks, my life went back to it's normal, boring, pathetic state. I went to school, had a few tests, had a few fights, fell a few falls, lost a few pens.

You know. Just the regular stuff. All's well in Lara Land.

And then, fast forward to three weeks later, when it all began to go wrong – or should I say, _right_ – again.

I was in my room, sitting on the bed, flat on my stomach and reading an Artemis Fowl book. Mostly to distract myself from the unpleasant confrontation I was about to have at dinnertime. I was going to tell my mother I'd scored a twelve out of thirty in my geometry test. And knowing my mom, unpleasant would be an understatement.

So instead of getting it over with, as a brave person would do, straight away, I did the cowardly thing and buried myself in my books until dinnertime. I'd like to say I was working up the courage to go and tell her, or feeling ashamed of myself. But I was actually kind of wondering if I could put it off until tomorrow. Or just … never tell her. Or something.

I'm sorry. I'm a terrible moral role model. Aesop could write a story about me with me getting struck by lightening in the end, and then say, '' The moral of this fable was: _Don't be like her_!''.

Thank God he's dead.

Oops. Ranting again. I apologize.

So where was I ?

Oh, yes. Reading. Reading is one of the few things I excel at. It requires no energy, not too many brains, and it makes me feel smart. I can read pretty well, actually.

There! I can do _something_!

But as Bella from Twilight wisely says, they don't give medals for reading books. They should though. I bet I'd win a bronze (I like to aim low).

I've read a lot. My favourite series is the Harry Potter series, predictably. Mostly because I share a lot of qualities with Voldemort. I've read them all so many times I don't even bother rereading them anymore. What I do is I just open the page of the part I want to reread, usually Voldemort's rebirth, and what I'm really proud of is I can actually remember the exact chapter and page I'm looking for.

You don't get a better reader than that!

But no one appreciates my reading skills at all. I can read five hundred pages in an hour and a half, but does anyone applaud like they do when Chump kicks a ball? Noooo.

Moving on.

I read until dinnertime. And then I had no other choice.

I told her. Right as we sat at the table, stuffing our faces with grilled chicken. I opened my mouth, looked straight into those strict, forbidding eyes and told her:

'' I got twelve out of thirty in geometry.''

'' What?'' her voice chilled me to the bone. She spoke so coldly. You'd think I'd admitted to a murder.

'' I got …'' now I was mumbling.'' Twelve.''

'' I think I am mistaken,'' said my mother, with a mirthless laugh.'' I thought you said twelve—surely even you cant be that stupid! To get a twelve …''

Hey!

'' I did,'' I squeaked.

'' Twelve out of fifteen?'' she inquired politely, but I knew the politer she sounded, the more dangerous she was. I felt sorry for everyone she had ever cross-examined.

'' No,'' I whispered dismally.'' Out of …''

'' Yes?''

Oh, I was so, so dead.

'' Out of thirty,'' I finally choked out.

'' What?'' she demanded again, and now she sounded furious.'' What do you mean, twelve out of thirty? What kind of idiot scores twelve out of thirty in a geometry test?''

Hey, again!

I fell silent. I couldn't actually think of anything to say.

'' Leave the table, Lara,'' she finally snapped. She glared at me, her eyes stern and—scary.'' I don't want to talk to you now, I'm too disappointed. Take your food and leave.''

I swallowed, holding back humiliated, annoyed tears, then I left the table without a word, scraping my chair backwards loudly and stomping out without any food. Which I fully well knew I would regret later, let me tell you. I get hungry very quickly.

I didn't go to my room. I was too upset. Instead, I went out to the back garden and sat on a dusty plastic chair and reflected on how unfair the world was and why on earth we took geometry and so on.

And then, God forbid I be able to sulk and grumble in peace, of course, something had to happen to me. The plastic chair cracked and the plastic bent and collapsed, and I fell onto the ground. As if that wasn't enough, the stupid crack closed as the chair broke and went down, pinching the back of my thigh. I groaned loudly and started to untangle myself from the painful chair, and ended up covered in dust and grass and bits of twig.

But I'm used to this sort of thing by now.

Although I kind of reached my limit when, after getting up and abandoning the evil, broken chair, as I walked back towards the house, I tripped and fell.

Again.

There is not a word to describe my frustration at that moment. I swallowed again, hard, but this time out of anger, and stood up carefully, glaring at the object which had tripped me.

And I stared at what had tripped me. Oh, the irony.

I'd tripped on a very familiar-looking stick. Which I had last seen when I was unconscious, held by a little blue girl.

Feeling curious, and being too thick to stop and wonder how a stick I'd seen in a dream could possibly exist, and what were the odds, I bent down and picked it up.

And – this is actually pretty surprising, especially to me – there was this bright, bright glow, and I disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter Two:**_

Time travel is one weird trip.

First of all, did you know that when you disappear, yes, _disappear_, as in vanish into thin air, your stomach feels as if it got left behind, your throat feels like paper, your heart pumps so hard it really hurts, and your lungs get all the air squeezed out of them in a single moment, as if you'd been punched?  
So next time you feel like vanishing into thin air, put that into consideration.

I was terrified. Absolutely terrified.

a) I had no idea where I was going.

b) I wasn't even sure whether I was travelling back in time

c) Worried about my sanity.

d) Concerned if I was going to die, dying, etc.

In case you haven't noticed, it struck me that Jeanie was one big fat liar. I'd made no wish, said no stupid password, all I'd done was grab the stupid stick.

Chosen or not, that was very unfair.

And somehow, I'd been transported to somewhere else.

The instant I'd grabbed the stick and vanished, I was in limbo. My eyes were blinded by large pinwheels of colour, bright stars, dark tunnels—

It felt like I'd been sucked into a black, plastic bag with paint of every colour, and a giant baby was shaking the bag furiously.

That's _exactly_ what it felt like.

Just in case you're, you know, thinking of visiting limbo, put that into consideration as well.

I don't really know if I was in Limbo. I just cant find another word for it. It seemed endless and quick, colourful and dark, dizzying and still.

As I said, it was terrifying.

If that's what a time tunnel is, next time they offer me one, I'm saying no, thank you.

I could bore you with every confusing detail of the journey, because it adhered to my brain, every bright shape and every confusing area of black tunnel, but I wont.

It went on for a very long time though. Dizzy, spinning shapes, bright, bright colours, so hyp…no…tic…so very, very hypnotic…

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Limbo came to a very sudden, abrupt end.

One second I was flying through a paintbox, the next I was suddenly thrown forward, on something hard, dirty and sticky. I landed flat on my stomach.

I opened my eyes blearily and found myself lying on a sidewalk. It was completely deserted. I tried to get up, feeling dizzy and confused, trying to absorb where I'd been. My clothes were much the same, only dirtier from lying on the sidewalk. I lifted myself up wearily, groaning, and then I looked around.

I had no idea where I was.

I glanced around curiously. The sidewalk was next to a large street with three lanes on one side, and a line of shops and closely-set buildings on the other. It was empty only because it was so early; judging by the grey sky and brisk, cold air, it was probably around six in the morning. I was stunned.

I'd really been transported someplace else!

Which opened a whole new world of possibilities. If Limbo and vanishing and maybe even time travel existed, what else did? Dragons and vampires and magic seemed very possible.

I really hoped centaurs, elves and pixies existed.

And then I started exploring my surroundings, feeling more amazed than I had ever been in my life. I just let it all happen, dream-like. Pausing to examine my situation would only confuse things. I tried to accept it and move on.

I glanced curiously into one of the shops, wondering whether I was on another planet and maybe they sold nuclear rays or something.

But instead, I was very slightly disappointed to see them selling just clothes. The shop I first met was called '' Fashion High'' which wasn't very catchy, but whatever. They advertised 'Jordache' jeans ( which I'd never seen before. Whatever happened to Levi's?) and a bunch of plaid shirts. Big, bulky jackets. Baggy black pants and oversize T-shirts. Tights and leggings and oversized purple blouses.

Maybe I _was_ on another planet.

But then again, they had Chuck Jones All-Stars. My bad, we're still on planet Earth.

The clothes were very odd though. I hadn't seen people wearing that stuff, especially not together, in ages. It was very nineties.

_Oh_.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

I did a little research. Basically, what I did was stare around in shock, and then I noticed a teeny little thing that screamed out at me like a giant neon sign.

A little, plain white sign that read '' Sale on leggings! Buy one get one free! Special offer: Buy one Egyptian cotton Jordache jeans, get one half-price! Hurry! Offer expires March 1st, 1996!''

1996.

Nineteen…ninety…six.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.

One thousand nine hundred and ninety-six AD.

The twentieth century.

That was one magical stick.

( and don't ask me why they put the year on the date of a special offer sign. I don't know.)

So here I am, stuck in the last century ( the last millenium, actually). I wasn't even four in nineteen ninety six!

And then I realized my dilemma. I was in 1996, and there was nothing I could do about it.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

I decided to try and survive the month. Maybe Jeanie had been right about that. One month, and if I wasn't back by then—

Start looking for little blue ants.

Until then though…what on earth was I going to do?

This was nineteen ninety six. They were already evolved. I couldn't impress them with science, TV, music. They had different tastes. They knew pizza.

Heck, they even knew Madonna and Oprah!

I had a sudden, brilliant idea.

I could work as a fortune teller for celebrities. That'd be great!

But…

Was that really good enough? I'd travelled back in time. I was going to be stuck, not knowing what would happen to me, surviving on my own with no food and water, in a different time. I should make really, really good use of it. I mean, a fortune teller is pretty mediocre compared to what a really innovative person might do. I really wished I was innovative!

Or mildly intelligent, for that matter.

I thought of my iPod, in my pocket. I could introduce them to the iPod, but how would that help? I had no idea how it was made and who to go to, nor how to make use of it. If anything, they'd think I stole it.

I was getting hungry. I remembered last time I'd eaten, when I'd stomped out of the room without food, back home at dinner.

My stomach panged as I thought of my mother. My mother's _cooking_.

I didn't even waste a thought on Chump, forgive my lack of scruples.

I had a few pounds in my pocket, fortunately not spent yet. I had to walk a few 1996 early-morning blocks before finding a supermarket that was actually open. The scruffy cashier was sleepy-eyed. He barely glanced at the money before stuffing it into the drawer and waving me and my shopping ( a sandwich, a water bottle, a few candy bars and some old-fashioned Pringles) away. I noticed as I left how funny the old Coca-Cola looked. And the old Pepsi.

So far the best idea I'd had was the celebrity-fortune teller.

I walked some more absently, until I reached a fancy, five-star hotel. I glanced at it wistfully, then at the quarter I had left.

Yeah, I wish.

And then I saw the homeless shelter opposite the hotel. It was brand-new, clearly just built with the money of fancy fundraisers. A simple but clean, neat building.

I debated going in, feeling awkward. A homeless shelter. Ma would kill me.

But it was a pretty homeless shelter! And I _was_ homeless!

Ma would kill me for saying that too, but we all know I don't actually care.

So I walked forward, stepping into the shelter's front garden and up the front steps. The wooden door was plain and inexpensive, but the welcome mat actually read '' Welcome!''

instead of '' Go away!'' or '' Buzz off!'' which I took as a good omen.

I rang the bell.

A few minutes later a sleepy-eyed woman with frizzled hair opened the door and stared at me.

'' Uh. I need a place to stay,'' I said nervously, initiating conversation. She frowned at me, trying to work her sleepy brain. At least, that's what I assumed she was doing.

'' Why?''

Aren't homeless shelters supposed to take you as you are? What was with the third degree? Okay, maybe not that much, but you get what I mean.

'' Because I've got no home for a bit,'' I answered hesitantly.

'' Oh, a runaway?'' she asked, understanding spreading on her face. She had one strong British accent.

'' Er—''

'' Come right in!''

'' Um, okay,'' I muttered and followed her into the shelter. Being myself, I did not stop to think about it, as usual. It was a shelter, for heaven's sake. I had a good excuse to feel reassured!

A big mistake, as it happened.

But Frizzy led me down a plain, clean corridor, and to a wooden door labelled Number Eight. I liked eight. Another good omen. Another mistake on my part.

She opened the door without much ado, except for the door squeaking a bit, and as it swung open I saw the inside. It was a big, airy, rectangular room, with the same theme as the rest of the place, which was Plain Yet Clean ( quite the interior design fashion statement ) and well-lit, thanks to a large window at the far end. There were dozens of beds, bunk beds and single beds alternating, with tables between each two. There were blankets and pillows as extras at the foot of each unoccupied bed, and a cupboard next to window, possibly with more supplies. In the far right corner, there were no beds, but a little fridge and stove, with a large table and several chairs. It was a pretty cool room for something free. Back home, the homeless shelter had been so run-down even homeless mice had turned their nose up at it.

Although, now that I think about it, that could be this shelter in a decade or so.

'' Here you go, precious,'' said Frizzy sleepily.'' You can stay here until we see about your situation. Feel free to bag a bed, and there's some food at the fridge over there, you can sit with the rest if you don't feel like sleeping. You can take supplies—we've got blankets and pillows and tins and warmers if you desperately need them, or if you'd rather help as much as you can, you can pay for them, depending on the amount of money you've got. You'll have to register anything you're going to take, though. And we'll need a name and some information later, as you're a minor. I wont bother you about it now, though, you can rest a bit until we see. Don't think of trying anything illegal though, you wont believe the security measures we've got…''

Yeah. Like the latest inventions. VCR and CCTV. Maybe even…a laptop! Whoa. Gosh, if I were a criminal I'd be quivering in my shoes, I mean, how would I ever get past _that_?

'' …and that's about all, precious. If you need anything else we've got round-the-clock people and volunteers, or you can just come to me at the desk. Same if you need to use the telephone. All set?''

I nodded mutely. I was trying to think of a polite way to get her off calling me _precious_. I know she meant well, but the word always seemed to imply sarcasm when used to refer to me. She smiled back at me, her eyes still droopy, and I went inside and she closed the door after me.

There weren't too many people there. I assumed there were other rooms, because this one seemed mainly for women, and their young, young children, or girls. Some of the women appeared to be pretty poor, wrapped up in a zillion layers and filching all the extra blankets. The rest were moderate, run-down, tired, broke or lost. Most of them were sleeping, still, but one of the few with children was awake, gorging herself at the fridge and stove. I smelled eggs.

Almost instantly – I am fairly impulsive, being led by my stomach – I changed direction and made a beeline for the little corner with the table and edibles, instead of a bed. I still had the food I'd got at the supermarket, so I decided to eat first and rest later. Both actions would were necessary and would require no thinking, which was great for me. Thinking about being in the nineties with only my wits ( I was so dead ), a strange person's word and a quarter, depending on a stick, would not be good for my mental health. I really wanted to move past that. It was proving to be very hard though. The longer I stayed without absorbing it, the weirder I felt. And God knows I can afford to feel any weirder than I already am. Not that my clumsiness would increase, we all know that's impossible, but I could end up in a nineties asylum.

I sat at the table, trying to politely ignore the woman and the several little kids littering the area – who knew, being polite and ignoring someone at the same time is really hard – and pulled my sandwich, water, and a candy bar. I'd save the rest of them, half the water, and the Pringles for later.

Food tastes pretty much the same in the past.

I was happily chewing through my sandwich when a small child, the sort I do my best to avoid, since they are either loud, hyperactive, or obnoxious, and usually all three, came and sat down next to me. He was pretty little, probably seven at most, with light brown hair and big blue eyes, wearing no-label jeans and a huge red jacket with an even huger smile. I put the remaining half of my sandwich down and eyed him warily.

'' Hello,'' he said enthusiastically. I worked on trying to look unfriendly and polite at the same time, which was, again, quite hard. But I had no intention of making any nineteen-sixty-nine friends, like it or not. This little guy was probably _old_ by my time. What a headache.

'' Hi,'' I said curtly. He didn't take the hint, unfortunately.

'' I'm Mickey,'' he said cheerfully.'' What's your name?''

I was sorely tempted to say Minnie, but I held my tongue. I was busy trying to work out whether personal information counted for anything in 1996 and whether or not I should tell a teeny little boy anything and what the consequences might be. The amount of thinking I'd done in the past few hours was starting to hurt my brain.

'' Um…Lara,'' I said at last. He beamed at me. I looked back sullenly.

'' I'm nine years old,'' he said proudly. I registered two things with this statement. One was either he was lying about his age, suffered from stunted growth, or he was one really small guy for his age. And the other was that he had a British accent too. Odd.

'' So how old are you?'' he asked after a pause when I didn't offer my age, as it seemed I was supposed to do.

'' What's with all the questions?'' I muttered at last, having succeeded in intensifying my headache by wondering whether or not I should answer that. I had no idea how old I was anymore. How old was I _really_, in this time, or how old I was back at home? And had Limbo affected my age any? Honestly. Not thinking this through was just so much simpler!

'' What's with—? _Oh_, nothing!'' he said in an injured tone after a few second's contemplation of my sentence, as if I had hurt his pride.'' I was just trying to be friendly. You know. Nice me.''

'' Very well then,'' I said slowly, and returned to my sandwich, slightly relieved. He was silent for some time, then, apparently unable to hold himself in, burst out:

'' Could I have a bit of that sandwich? Or a candy bar?''

I knew it!

'' Look, Mickey,'' I said, looking up regretfully from my food. I had wanted to say something along the lines of No, This Is Food, I Do Not Part With Food, but his expression stopped me short. Wobbly lip and the big eyes. Dang. I'm a sucker for the wobbly lip and big eyes.

I heaved a huge sigh. Then I unwrapped the rest of my sandwich and tore off a fairly sizeable portion from the end, and handed it to him. His eyes lit up gleefully. I heaved another huge sigh and pushed a candy bar towards him. His smile grew even wider, and he positively glowed. I, on the other hand, was not glowing but glowering. I knew I couldn't help my own generosity, but I really had to do something about my weakness for puppy faces.

'' Fanks!'' he declared delightedly through a mouthful of food. I nodded miserably.

'' It's no…'' I mumbled, letting my voice trail off before I could lie. I know, I know, I'm selfish. We should have gotten past that by now. I chewed the rest of my food thoughtfully, observing his face. He seemed happy enough, naturally, but I detected a trace of…what was it? Pleasure…no, _triumph_.

Triumph. He'd been planning this!

'' You didn't plan on this, did you?'' I asked carefully, studying his expression. He froze in mid-bite, staring at me with big eyes.

'' Plan wha' ?'' he inquired innocently, chewing, but I saw the little sparkle of mischief. I had long since been accustomed to recognizing it on Chump. I saw it on Mickey.

'' You know,'' I said casually.'' Coming to sit next to me so you could grab a bit of my food?''

If I had expected more denial, I was disappointed.

He snorted through a mouthful of food—_my_ food.'' What did you expect? I'd come over for the pleasure of your company?''

Why the little—!

'' Why you little—'' I cried, hushing my outraged tones quickly before I woke up everyone asleep on the beds.

'' Little genius?'' he suggested, grinning.'' Little brilliant schemer, you? Little—''

'' How about _very_ little nine-year-old?'' I offered vindictively. His grin slid off like water. He glared at me.

'' I'm _not_ little,'' he said determinedly in a very long-suffering tone.'' I just haven't hit my growth spurt yet, that's all.''

'' Sure you haven't,'' I said in my most irritating fashion. At last, something I excelled at.

'' Okay, get over it,'' he snapped, rolling his eyes.'' It's no use holding a grudge over a bit of stale sandwich and expired Snickers—''

'' Easy for you to say, Mickey _Mouse_!'' I said, flaring up instantly.'' You just took it by tricking me, playing my sympathy and generosity, I _bought_ it, with the last of my money, huh, and all I've got left is a _quarter_—''

Amazingly, I finally managed to appeal to my self-pity, and I felt tears pricking my eyelids. They do say self-pity brings tears fastest to the eyes. I'd been fairly surprised myself that I hadn't started bawling sooner, seeing my current situation and all. So I started, to my embarrassment, crying, right in front of a most astonished Mickey.

'' Hey,'' he said uncomfortably.'' Hey, look, mate, it's okay, I can scrounge up some money—''

'' It's not just that,'' I sniffled pathetically. He winced.'' It's _everything_. I'm stuck here and…''

'' Oh, no!'' he interrupted hastily, jumping back with his chair a good three inches. I gave a startled choke.'' Don't you start one of those I'm-so-sorry-for-me speeches, oho, I know _those_. You wouldn't believe how many I hear a day in this place. They go on _forever_, and everyone's more depressed than the next – why don't you have yourself a good cry _without_ the rant?''

Whoa, he stopped me ranting and he doesn't even _know_ me. Smart kid.

'' But it's so hopeless!'' I wailed. He reached over to the Kleenex in the middle of the table we were seated at and handed me a tissue gingerly. I blew my nose loudly. Several people on the beds grunted, and I scowled at them. Whoever they were.'' I mean, the little blue ant in the dream didn't _say_ this would happen, and I only _touched_ the stick, I never—''

'' Hey!'' yelped Mickey.'' Time out, time out! What did I say about the ranting?''

I glared at him.'' You're a terrible listener, Tiny. After filching my food, you should be more sympathetic than this.''

'' Listen, Lara,'' he began, then giggled at his alliteration.'' I am a terrible listener, I concede. Oh, I say! You know what? I'll make it up with my talking. I'm a dang good talker. You should give listening a try. Know what else I'm really good at? Irony and sarcasm. Combined with my talking skills, that makes me pretty cool.''

I was furious. Appalled. He'd just robbed my favourite skill.

'' I don't think so, Stuart Little!'' I retorted.'' There can be only one talker in this conversation, and that'd be me. I have no intention of listening to you, nor enjoying your ' irony and sarcasm' – '' I made little finger quotes around the words, the effect slightly ruined by the tissue I was clutching '' – so we better get that clear. And for the record, you don't talk like a nine year old one bit.''

I hadn't intended to include that part in my insults, because it was more flattering than belittling, which was not the intended goal – flattering, that is – but it slipped out.

'' I know,'' he said seriously and smugly at the same time.'' I'm pretty mature for my age, I hear. Y'see, I'm an orphan, and I've been living alone for a really long time, even before the shelter, so learning to depend on myself made me older than my years, and then when the shelter opened I became a regular, visiting and staying every now and then while eluding authorities, so I wouldn't get thrown into some orphanage and stuff – I've become pretty good at getting food and money off people, as you very well know – big eyes and wobbly lip, works every time – sometimes I even find people my own age and make friends, that's usually fun, oh, I say, there was this one time when—''

I groaned and plunked my head onto the table, having finished what Mickey had spared of my sandwich. Then I started banging my forehead on the table repeatedly, over and over. Now, most people would take that as a sign that their chattering is unwelcome and unacknowledged. Not Mickey though, oh, no. Even though he claimed to hate rants, he was a master of the discipline of ranting himself, even if he was not proclaiming his self-pity. He went on and on while I managed to gain a lump the size of Mt. Everest ( the usual ) on my forehead. Great. We were both talkers and we were both ranters. It seemed obvious to me that we should not be communicating, or making any contact whatsoever.

Apparently, Mickey did not share that belief.

Finally, I couldn't take it any more.

'' Look, Little, Tiny, Small, Itty, Mouse, whatever they call you,'' I blurted after ten minutes' intense talking on his part.'' My ears are melting. I have to go sleep now. You'll be okay, right?''

He looked miffed, whether at my words or my interruption I do not know.'' Huh. I survived three years all by myself, what makes you think I'd stop now? Go, go.''

'' Great!'' I announced in relief, then quickly amended myself at his injured expression.'' I mean. Gosh, we'll have to continue that later, wont we, Mick? Bye, then!''

'' Yeah,'' he said unenthusiastically, muttering under his breath,'' I have better things to do anyway. Catch you later, Lara.''

I stumbled off the chair and headed for the farthest bed possible. I finally found one where I hoped he wouldn't be able to spot me, and after hurriedly pulling the extra blanket onto it, and fluffing up the pillows, crawled underneath the covers, fully dressed, and feeling stranger than I'd ever been in my life. It seemed unreal.

Three seconds later it _was_ unreal, because I was asleep and dreaming.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

I had the oddest dream. Give a guess what I dreamed about.

Come on. Your wildest guess.

If you said ' Jeanie' you _win_!

Yes. I dreamed about the little blue genie girl that had gotten me into this whole mess in the first place. Missus Jeanie the Genie, She in Charge Of the Timeline, as she claimed. Or One Of Ye in Charge Of the Timeline.

Well, whoever they are, they dost be in biggeth troubleth.

I dreamed I was back in my garden. Right where I'd first met her. Jeanie looked really, really uncomfortable.

Good. I hoped she was incredibly uncomfortable. She deserved it!

( What can I say? I tend to harbour grudges. )

'' Well?'' I demanded. I was pretty sure it was all a dream, but still, it _felt_ pretty real, like that first time.

'' I'm sorry, Lara,'' said Jeanie somberly. I scowled. Fat lot of good 'sorry' was about to do.

'' Sorry?'' I repeated with extreme scorn. She scowled back. Apparently being humble had cost her a lot of swallowed pride.

Well, good, I though savagely.

'' There was a…mistake,'' she said reluctantly. My heart dropped like a stone. Mistake? Apart from the obvious one, which was me being stuck in '96, what else was there? Please, please, please don't tell me I'm going to be stuck back in time with only Mickey's Irony and Sarcasm as company, and have to ration my quarter to live and…

'' Mistake?'' I squeaked, my voice several octaves higher than a mouse's.'' What sort of mistake?''

'' We in charge of the timeline accidentally gave you a faulty trigger,'' said Jeanie. She was sulking. Obviously, admitting she had made a mistake to a moron like me must be horribly dangerous to her self-esteem and pride. Well, sorry.

'' Trigger, eh?'' I echoed, my voice still squeakier than ever. Uh-oh. Why, why, why is it my luck to get the botched stuff? Why couldn't _I_ get a perfectly functioning 'trigger'?

'' Yes, trigger,'' snapped Jeanie impatiently, looking relieved that she could yell at me for something.'' You don't have to repeat everything I say. Honestly—''

I would take a moment to note that had I not been quaking in apprehension, I would have said, quite indignantly, '' Honestly yourself! You're the one who made a mistake and put _my_ life on the line!''

'' –a trigger,'' she went on, oblivious to my inward skepticism,'' is the device that takes you back in time. In your case, the stick. Other times, it may be a time machine or precious stone of some sort, etcetera. Nobody can go back in time unless we in charge of the—''

'' Yeah, yeah, you _in charge of the timeline_, I get it,'' I interrupted nastily. She glared at me. But that's how she usually looked at me anyway.

'' –we in charge of the timeline issue them a trigger,'' she continued.'' There was something wrong with yours. Normally a chosen one cannot go back ill-informed. I needed at least a few more meetings with you before you went back. If you remember, I did not get time to finish my instructions the last time we met. As it was, the trigger/stick sent you back the instant you touched it, even without the voice-activated password. And until we find the extent of the damage your journey made, you're going to stay here. You're lucky you ended up in a civilized time at all. Now you have an excellent chance to make use of your stay in the past, seeing the opportunities offered in February one-thousand-nine-hundred-and-ninety-six AD. Particularly with—'' she coughed. I'd been trying to keep my eyes open when she hesitated.

I leaned forward with interest.

'' With what, yes?'' I said curiously. The date was February then. Better remember that. She flushed slightly.

'' I was going to say,'' she said awkwardly,'' particularly with six months to accomplish them in. That's the maximum limit of any time travel we authorize. Even if we don't work out the problem, you will be removed from this place within six months. It's only supposed to last one month though, so we'll be trying to fix it, and we're hoping we can, although it seems unlikely since the damage has already been done—''

'' Six _months_?'' I repeated after her in shock, despite her earlier warning.'' The damage—? What?''

'' Well, you've already been sent back, to a different time and place, so there's the damage,'' explained Jeanie with great unease.'' You were supposed to choose that yourself, not to mention the one-month timing. Now we'll be working hard to try and fix the stick so you can go back before six months, the regulation limit, but usually journeys are irreversible and unchangable once they begin, until the six months end, but we shall see. I'm sorry about this, Lara. You were chosen to gain—''

I instantly pricked my ears up. Why was I chosen now?

But Jeanie fell silent suddenly, as though she'd heard something.

'' Oh, not again!'' she groaned, and glared at me as usual, as though whatever it was was somehow my fault.'' We've run out of time. I'll tell you the rest later. Until then, try to make use of your stay and doooooo—''

Her voice faded away as someone started shaking me roughly, just as last time, and the garden disappeared, as I opened my eyes fuzzily to the shelter's interior. Frizzy was leaning over me, waking me up with a big smile on her face.

'' Hello, precious!'' she said sweetly.'' Had a good sleep? Goody, goody. Time to wake up now. We're going to need your personal information. Social Services and ChildCare Inc. – our sponser – are here to check on you! We've also got Runaway Services and Healthcare center around, in case you need them. Shall we begin?''

Oh, great.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter Three:**_

What a wake up call. I tried to clear my sleepy head frantically, blinking rapidly. I would need to be wide-awake for this one. Frizzy tilted her frizzy-haired head at me curiously.

'' All right, precious?'' she said, concerned. I couldn't really answer her. I was too angry. She'd tricked me! Lured me in, no warnings, and went and contacted social services! Without telling me!

So much for _shelter_. They should call it a _temporary_ homeless shelter. Then it becomes a prison.

I knew she'd meant well. Maybe for someone else, like Mickey, this would've been useful. But for me, with no ID whatsoever, and no existence in this time, I could have definitely used a little prior notice. That would've helped a bit.

As it was, I was smoking furious. I struggled to untangle myself from the covers, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. Frizzy smiled as I stood up shakily, still trying to focus. I really wished I could go back to sleep. Preferably without a confusing Jeanie dream.

'' There's no need for any of that,'' I began. My voice was slightly hoarse. I ignored that.

'' Oh, I know, precious!'' said Frizzy reassuringly.'' We just have to do it because you're a minor and a runaway, new rules they've put up. It'll be terrifically easy, don't you worry!''

Yeah, I bet.

'' No, there's really no need for this,'' I insisted, trying to keep the urgency out of my tone. And the desperation. And the quivering.

'' Oh, pre—''

She was interrupted mid-precious by three officials, one in plain clothes, one in a suit, and one in a plain black uniform with a small badge on the shoulder. They must've entered the room while we were talking. Two were carrying papers and clipboards.

I was _this_ close to panicking then and there. Officials scared me; they were so serious. When you see an official, you know its no joke. It's a wonder I didn't shriek and run full-tilt for the door. Instead, I wished a lot of bad things on Jeanie, which wasn't very nice, I admit, but as I said, I'm not very nice.

'' Come along now, Janet,'' said the man in a suit impatiently.'' We've been outside ages already. Bring the girl to the office so we can see about our job.''

And believe it or not, he had a British accent too. What was _with_ this place?

Frizzy/Janet gave him a small, nervous smile and led me out of the room with surprising firmness. I didn't even have time to protest. I was half-dragged, rumpled clothes, messy hair and all, down the corridor to a room with a plaque on the door. I didn't have time to read it, since Frizzy was leading me along so quickly, but I got the idea this was the office. It was. I entered the plain, empty office, cold and airy, with a desk, an ancient, _huge_, clunky computer ( I wondered what sort of Windows it was. My memory couldn't go farther back than the '98 version ), a filing cabinet and a few chairs. I sat down on one, my mind a whirlwind.

The officials arrived soon after. Each one sat one a chair opposite me. Frizzy took her place on the desk, visibly tense. Apparently, the officials made her nervous. I wasn't surprised; they would have made a _rock_ nervous. Not to mention _me_!

I kept standing. They all stared at me, and then at the only empty chair left, then back at me. Clearly a hint to make me sit down.

And normally I would, trust me. My lazy streak runs strong and healthy, why keep standing when I could sit and relax?

But not this time. I'd just woken up, I was jumpy and nervous, in 1996, and most certainly aiming for the fastest exit. Which would be faster if I remained standing.

Especially since, considering my fortune, I would probably get stuck in the chair trying to escape if I sat down. So, all things considered, I stayed standing.

'' Ah,'' said the official in plain clothes, after a pause in which I didn't sit down. He gave up on that.

I waited, but apparently _Ah_ had been all he had to say.

'' So, dear,'' said the one in a suit, his voice brisk and business-like as he saw nobody else was willing to start first.'' How about a name? What's your name?''

'' Uh,'' I said, thinking fast. Unfortunately, thinking does nothing for me, except hurt my head. I decided to wing it.'' Lucy-Ann.''

There. A British name for a British bunch. Thank God for Enid Blyton.

'' Lucy-Ann _what_, dear?'' he said impatiently. I frowned.

'' Lucy-Ann…Pleasant,'' I muttered. It was the fastest thing I could come up with.

'' So, Lucy, if I may call you that—'' he began to say, but I cut across him, sensing an opportunity to exercise my powers of annoyance.

'' Actually, you may not,'' I said, pouting theatrically. He scowled briefly, but I went on.'' It's my grandmother's name, old Grannie Lucy, and she died three years ago from—a snake bite. My little brother – well, he was my stepbrother, little Bob, you know – his pet adder escaped from its cage while Grannie was cooking some broth—'' I have no idea what broth is ''—and bit her. My therapist says I should be over it by now, and so does my shrink, and that schizo dude who tried to cure me of…chronical sarcasm and depression…a few months ago, but he decided he was a soldier in the Vietnam war halfway through the therapy session and ran off, but anyway, it still hurts every time I think of her, and the nickname Lucy always reminds me of her—''

I gave a dramatic sniff. It wasn't hard, since I'm pretty good at exaggerating. Ask my mother.

'' Very well, then, Lucy-Ann!'' snapped Plain Clothes, who had been affected by my wild tirade the most. His face was a mask of weariness.'' I'm very sorry about your Grannie and all—''

'' Are you really, dude?'' I interrupted meaningfully, shaking my head sadly.'' Isn't insincerity just the _worst_? You didn't really know Grannie Lucy, so you cant be sorry, can you? Not as sorry as I am, I'm sure. You should have met her though. She was a wonderful—''

'' That's enough, Miss. Pleasant!'' Suit Guy cut in. I was startled for a second – who was he calling _pleasant_?– until I remembered my supposed spur-of-the-moment name and nodded, eyes wide.

'' How about an address?'' he went back to his formal, brisk self, reminding me of my mother.

'' 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney?'' I offered, struggling to remember where I got that from. Then I realized it was Finding Nemo and probably wrong, too.

'' Mmm-hmm—'' he began writing it down when he suddenly stopped and glared at me.'' Eh? _Sydney_?''

I looked as innocent as I could manage. It was hard, since I've never actually been innocent before. Well, rarely. Remember that whole 'not nice' talk we had in the beginning? Yeah.

'' You said you wanted _an_ address, _sir_,'' I replied, all charm.

'' _Your _address, if you please,'' the one in the uniform spoke up for the first time. He sounded like he was speaking through clenched teeth. Gee, wonder why.

'' Oh, why didn't you _say_ so!'' I exclaimed airily and gave them my biggest smile.'' In that case, it's sixteen, Rose lane, building four on top of Woolworth's, apartment twenty-two opposite the really fancy door. If you hear kids screaming inside, its not mine, the one on the floor above. When you hear adults screaming, its mine.''

I do believe I was oozing sweetness at that moment. _They_ were radiating waves of irritation. Ah, I had not lost my touch.

'' Fine then,'' declared the uniformed official after Suit Dude took his time writing my conveniently complicated address down, painstakingly. Good thing they didn't ask me for it again, because I had no idea what I'd said.

'' Er—'' Plain Clothes put in. He was such an eloquent man, really. _Er_ and _Ah_. He must have won every vocabulary competition back when he was at school.'' Your age?''

I wondered how far I'd get away with that.

'' Seventeen,'' I said at last, deciding I looked older than twelve and too young for eighteen or over. Such a pity.

'' Seventeen?'' repeated Suit and Uniform simultaneously. Suit coughed and said,'' Have you got any ID on you?''

'' I left my purse at home,'' I said apologetically. How convenient.

'' Are you sure?'' he pressed.'' You don't _look_ seventeen, to be frank.''

He shouldn't have said that. I suppressed a grin, and instead adopted a most unhappy, disappointed expression, shaking my head at Suit sadly, slowly. He frowned uneasily.

'' To be _frank_, dude?'' I repeated, with an aura of depression.'' What do you mean by that? Have you not been frank with me throughout this conversation—'' interrogation would have been a more suitable word, if you ask me ''—at all? You only chose to be frank in that single statement? _Why_ is that, dude? Do you have issues, any problem with me that might be holding you back from being completely frank with me? Any—''

He glared at me, eyes bulging, throat tight, as if he was holding back a scream. I have no doubt he was; I have that effect on people, even if I don't mean it on purpose. Sadly.

Uniform spoke up hastily.'' Please, Miss. Pleasant, this is not a joke. We're trying to do our jobs here. We need your personal information so we can help you. You can talk to Janet afterwards if you need someone to talk to, as long as its not medical.''

Janet/Frizzy suddenly decided she needed the 'loo' very badly and excused herself. I had to work hard to stop smirking.

'' You were saying?'' I turned my attention back to the three officials.

'' I was saying,'' said Uniform primly,'' that I do believe you're lying about your age. You don't look seventeen in the least. Perhaps closer to thirteen?''

Hey! I glared at him.'' Perhaps _not_?''

'' Fourteen then?'' he said slyly, raising his eyebrows. I scowled, and then assumed a defeated expression. He looked triumphant as my chin dropped lower, and my lower lip began to droop in hopelessness.

'' You're right,'' I sighed sadly.'' I cant win against people as smart as you. It's true, I'm not seventeen.''

'' We supposed as much,'' said Suit coolly. He had recovered his temper sufficiently.

I sighed again, this time with even more defeat.'' You're right. I'm actually twenty-one. I know I look old, so I tried to make myself younger, but guess I cant get past you, can I! Grannie Lucy always did say my age pretenses would get me into trouble, that time when I told cousin Ray—well, he's a stepcousin – that I was nineteen, and his mother said…''

The three officials didn't seem very official then. Plain Clothes had gagged and choked when he'd heard the number twenty-one, Suit seemed to be undergoing a tough inner struggle to prevent himself from strangling me, and Uniform let out a derisive snort that he'd wanted to change into sardonic laughter, and ended up spitting at Suit.

It was fairly funny, actually.

'' Twenty-one?'' said Uniform mockingly once he'd recovered.'' Really now? And what am I? Fifty?''

'' Oh, gosh, no, you don't look a day over forty-nine!'' I cried out, most truthfully.

He looked disgruntled for a second, then went on,'' This is getting ridiculous, Miss. Pleasant—''

It occurred to me that I'd chosen a really cute misnomer. How coincidential.

''—you cant keep treating this as a joke! You could end up on the streets, or worse, in juvenile court if you don't watch out!''

_What?_ For what, excuse me? Under the charges of exasperating three Brit government officials? ( Okay, maybe giving one a slight anuerism, by the looks of Suit. )

'' But, dude!'' I declared in very extreme, fake horror.'' I'm not treating this like a joke, really! I'm just trying to—to… ''

'' Listen, Lucy-Ann,'' snapped Plain Clothes.'' This has gone too far. You've been playing around for half and hour now, we've barely had a straight answer out of you…''

He hadn't had a single straight answer out of me, in fact, but I didn't want to burst his bubble.

'' We need to know your parents' jobs,'' he said, after a pause in which I remained as silent as I could. He didn't seem to believe it, so he took on a careful, very official, sharp tone, just in case.

'' My dad's a neurosurgeon,'' I blurted out at once. It was only half a lie. My dad was actually a heart surgeon. Close enough.'' And my mother…well. She's a scientist. She has a PhD. in nano-technology, and she's working on making the technicalities of the nuclear bomb much smaller so we can destroy the world with minimal uranium usage.''

'' Really?'' breathed Plain Clothes, eyes wide.

Wow, I must be a really good liar.

'' _No_,'' I said with a snort.'' My ma runs a shoe-shining business. My dad sells imported breadfruit from exotic islands.''

'' Oh,'' he snapped, trying to regain his authority over me. It would be hard to do since he'd never had it anyway. I mentally added _Oh_ to _Er_ and _Ah_.

'' Your postal code?''

I gave him Chump's birthday, combined with James Bond's agent number and Alex Rider's initials. It's such a pity the only talents I have can never be used for good, only evil. Sigh.

'' What about your family's financial state?'' he asked.

'' What about it?''

He clenched his jaw again, something they'd all been doing frequently the past few minutes. Suit didn't seem to trust himself to speak yet. I was worried about him; his eyes were still bulging. It wouldn't be the first time I irritated someone over the edge, but still.

'' How is it?''

'' Why'd you wanna know?'' I said with fake suspicion. I could have sworn I heard a groan and something that sounded like,' Oh, please, God, have mercy, enough.'

'' Because,'' he growled with great restraint, and I tsked – temper, temper – while Uniform seemed to mutter darkly under his breath,'' we need it. End of discussion.''

'' Well, okay, but why would you want to have it?'' I said doubtfully.'' It wouldn't do you that good. Dad's shop was pretty good for a while but he lost it all in a bet. Wanna know what it was?''

'' No,'' he said shortly and I shrugged.

'' Your loss! It's a really interesting stooooooory…'' I said in my most taunting, sing-song voice.

He very nearly snarled at me.'' I. Don't. Want. To. Know.''

'' So, your school!'' yelped Uniform before Plain Clothes joined Suit's current situation.

'' So, my school,'' I echoed blankly.

'' What school do you go to?'' demanded Uniform when I said nothing else.

I paused. Now, what would infuriate them the most…? Ah.

'' Hogwarts,'' I answered sweetly.

I'd expected an explosion. Instead I was met with blank stares and an even blanker '' Huh?'' from Plain Clothes, which I immediately added to _Oh_, _Er_, and _Ah_.

Oh, my God. They didn't know _Hogwarts_? My mouth dropped open in indignation.

'' You don't know Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry?'' I demanded incredelously, genuinely shocked.''_ Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus?_''

That's the Hogwarts motto, to those who don't know. Inscribed under the crest. It's latin for 'don't poke a sleeping dragon in the eye'. I think.

'' What are you raving about _now_?'' moaned Uniform wearily. I was still staring, eyes wide. How could they not know Harry Potter? It seemed preposterous.

And then I realized. Harry Potter was published first in 1997. The year Fred Weasley died, incidentally. Which meant Harry Potter would not be known, nor widely known, for a year at the very least. This was the beginning of '96.

Imagine. I'd never thought of the world without Harry Potter. It seemed a very ignorant place, for some reason. The book that had made more money than the Queen had, it was said. The book that had smashed records worldwide—it wasn't published yet. Maybe the Philosopher's Stone was not even fully _written_ yet.

_More money than the Queen_…

It came to me in one, glorious, brilliant stroke. How had I missed it before?

I knew how to make use of my stay in the past. Full use, without even exerting too much energy. Better, much better, than some stupid celebrity fortune-teller.

I knew what I was going to do.

I was going to write Harry Potter.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

'' Lucy-Ann,'' Plain Clothes waved a hand in front of my dazed face.'' Lucy-Ann, please pay attention. We're almost done.''

I shook my head dizzily, bringing myself back to reality after my fantastic brainwave. I was so impressed with myself I didn't know where to start.

I looked back at the three officials, remembering where I was. Plain Clothes was writing down on his clipboard busily, Uniform was looking over at it to see what to ask me next, and Suit was still frozen, apparently too angry to speak, eyes _still_ bulging, jaw clenched and clutching his clipboard so tightly his knuckles were white. It was a wonder it was still intact.

'' Lucy-Ann,'' Uniform spoke with forced patience.'' I searched around in the schools in this district, and there's no Hogwarts.''

'' Oh, sorry!'' I said dramatically, clapping a hand to my mouth in feigned horror at my stupidity. I've actually done it before on several occasions, without faking. Like I said, I'm unfortunate when it comes to wit and grace. And everything else.

'' Sorry?'' snapped Uniform after me.'' Sorry about what?''

'' I accidentally gave you the wrong school,'' I said apologetically.'' That's my dog's training school. We're training him to bring in the newspapers at Hogwarts School for Disobedient Doggies. My bad.''

A vein pulsed in Suit's temple. I gave him a sweet smile.

'' Then what school do _you_ go to?'' hissed Uniform.

I frowned.'' That's a very hostile tone you're taking with me, dude. You better be nice or I'm going to report you to the Department of General Hostility and Harrassment, where Uncle – well, stepuncle – Thomas works. He and my brother George – stepbrother – don't take kindly to rude people. Why once…''

'' I thought you said your stepbrother's name was Bob?'' said Uniform in an ' aha!' tone, as though he'd caught me in a lie. I groaned mentally, then shrugged at him. No biggie. I could fix this one.

'' I have…eight stepbrothers and sisters,'' I explained. Uniform narrowed his eyes.

'' Care to name them?''

'' Well, I don't, really.''

His face grew visibly ruddier. He blustered, angry:

'' How about this? Name them, now, and that's a direct order.''

'' Okay, okay. Well, there's the twins, Fred and George. Then there's Bill, Percy, Ron, Charlie and Ginny—oh, and Bob!'' I added hastily. Haha, you no-know Harry Potter people! Get past _that_!

'' You only have one sister? I thought you said sister_s_,'' said Plain Clothes sharply.

Oh, please.

'' Oh, Bill's a girl,'' I said brightly.'' And so is George. Their real names are Billie and Georgia.''

Plain Clothes gave me a dark, dark look. If I wasn't holding myself back from laughing by an inch, I might have been slightly unnerved. Glares were _not_ very becoming on him.

'' You do realize we'll be checking this all out?'' he said, raising his eyebrow and bobbing his head the way George Bush does after he says something particularly stupid he finds crushing.

It might have scared me, except by the time they checked this out I'd be far, far away, writing Harry Potter, on my way to fame and fortune. The thought gave me a happy little thrill.

'' Of course!'' I said indignantly.'' You think I'm _lying_? That really hurts!''

Actually, I did feel sort of guilty for once. I guess being triumphant and getting away with it made me realize I was good at _something_, which sort of dampered my self-pity excuses. Ouch. Good thing I was always the losing side at home, or I might start feeling guilty then, too.

'' Mmm-hmm,'' said Uniform skeptically. Such a close-minded man, really.

'' Anything else?'' I asked as innocently as possible.

'' Still a few, but first, are you a runaway?''

'' Aren't we all?''

'' What?''

'' I mean,'' I gestured to the room philosophically.'' Aren't we all running away from the great question that is life? Metaphorically, of course.''

Suit made a small choking noise at the back of his throat. I looked at him in concern.

'' Are you guys sure he's okay?'' I asked the two others worriedly.'' He looks unstable to me.''

'' Never mind that,'' Plain Clothes' face was a mass of exasperation.'' He's fine, leave him be.''

'' Are you _sure?_'' I persisted.'' His eyes are all popped out. He looked like a frog.''

Both men snorted and Suit's eyes popped out some more in complete frustration and fury, I assume. He didn't seem to be able to speak normally yet.

'' Never you mind,'' said Uniform with a chortle.'' You haven't answered our question yet. Are you or are you not a runaway?''

'' Ah, but are _you_?'' I shot back wisely.'' You haven't answered _my_ question. Are you running away from it? From the truth? Is it, perhaps, too much to face?''

'' Actually,'' said Plain Clothes thoughtfully.'' It is a question with certain great issues to address. First of all, the figure of speech, the metaphor, _the question that is life_, brings a great many thoughts into one's mind. First of all, _is _life the question, or are you? And if it is, how do we generate a satisfactory answer to it? Through art, through philosophy? I believe, that living your life is the answer, and perhaps, as your aforementioned question states, we are running away from it. It would take a tremendous quantity of time and fundamental psychological prodding, not to mention exploring new philosophical depths, to dogmatically pursue the answer to the question, therefore proving that we are not, in fact, running away from it. At the risk of sounding like a long-winded windbag, I have to state that while the ends justify the means, in this case the ends _are_ the means, for by gaining the answer, and the means you take to gain it, you are announcing yourself running _to_, not from, the question of life, and thus answering it.''

'' Um,'' I said, tilting my head and pursing my lips at his self-satisfied expression.'' That was actually a _rhetorical_ question. ''

I seriously haven't a single clue what on earth he was going on about.

There was a roar as Plain Clothes suddenly realized what I said, but it didn't come from him. It was Suit, unable to take anymore. He leaped out of the chair, shouting and screaming, his eyes bulging out so far I was alarmed, his neck strained and pulsing as he lunged at me.

'' _Enough_!'' he shrieked.'' ENOUGH! What is _wrong_ with you, girl?! She's _crazy_! I tell you, she's crazy! _Let me at her, let me at her!_''

Suit and Plain Clothes both jumped up and grabbed him by the arms, holding him back. I was staring in shock with my mouth gaping wide open, quaking. He was still yelling. His face was bright red. I'd never done _that_ before.

Then I realized it was my opportunity for a dashing exit to escape from the officials. I ran for the door madly, squeaking,'' Sorry!'' at the three men, locked in a strange half-wrestling struggle, as I left. I ran as fast as I could – which is not very fast, but still – for the front door, fortunately with the remainder of my food and iPod in my pocket, the only possessions I had, my sneakers squeaking.

Running is not one of my strong points. Apart from my clumsiness, laziness, and general preferance for walking – although those should be enough, if you ask me – I'm not very fit and I get tired incredibly quickly. One of the many reasons I do not share Chump's fascination with football. So I was barely out of the shelter front door, barging through an extremely surprised Frizzy on the way, when I began feeling exhausted. Instead of running farther away, I just turned a corner and got lost in the sudden crowd that had appeared since six in the morning, feeling victorious for the first time in my life for outwitting the officials. I walked along the 1996 roads, happy, satisfied and absolutely lost.

I wasn't actually aware where I was, so I stopped and took a look around. To my surprise, though I estimated it must have been afternoon by now, it was still foggy and cloudy, as though it might rain at any moment. And when I paused to listen, I heard snatches of voices talking loudly –

'' Victoria, _do_ come by this evening—''

'' …so I told Cecil he was horrid…''

'' –hey, mate, did Marge give you that…''

And it suddenly sunk in, that like Frizzy, Mickey, and the officials, all these people had British accents too. I was beginning to have a most uncomfortable feeling, when I heard a familiar voice next to me giggle, and I spun around to see an undergrown little boy grinning at me.

Mickey.

'' Well, if it isn't good old Lucy-Ann!'' he said theatrically, his grin growing wider.

'' What are you doing here, Munchkin?'' I snapped, my mood going downhill again. This little kid could possibly grow up to be as annoying as myself, minus the lack of talents and wit.

'' Following you,'' he answered immediately.'' That was a lovely performance you gave back there, if I do say so myself, absolutely brilliant.'' He chortled again.

I glared at him irritably.'' You were eavesdropping?''

'' Hey, mate, I'm a thief and a streetboy,'' said Mickey, putting up his little palms defensively. '' It's not exactly beneath me. You seem to be interesting, so I'll stick with you for a while!''

My heart sank, even though I had been feeling quite sorry for him a millisecond earlier.

'' Stick with me…?''

'' Like glue,'' he announced devoutly. I groaned and he glared back at me.'' And _that's_ not very nice!''

'' Listen, Itty Bitty,'' I said patiently.'' Sticking with me is a bad idea. I'm so boring you wont know what hit you.''

That was completely true before six am, this morning.

'' That wasn't boring in the least back there,'' he said, raising his eyebrows. I scowled.

'' Well, don't get used to it,'' I growled.'' This sort of thing happens once every blue moon, to me. Thanks to my clumsy genetics, I've been blessed with the instinct to avoid anything that involves physical exercise and/or action. Is that clear?''

'' Sure,'' he said indifferently.

'' All I'm going to do, is _write_,'' I added, to underline my point.

'' Write what?'' he inquired instantly, his eyes lighting up with interest.

'' None of your business,'' I barked, not really out of wanting to hide it but mostly out of irritation.

'' Fine,'' he snapped.

'' Fine,'' I snapped back. Then I went back to where I was, which was wondering where I was, and realized Mickey might as well be useful.

'' Say, Mickeyyyy,'' I said suddenly, in my most friendly tone, trying to patch things up,'' you wouldn't happen to know what this place is, now would you?''

'' This place?'' he repeated quizzically and I scowled; did I have to spell it out or something?

'' Fine!'' I cried, then blurted it out.'' Okay, where in the galaxy _am_ I? Because I haven't got the foggiest idea!''

He burst out laughing, the reaction I had especially wanted to avoid. I gave him a dark glare.

'' Well?''

'' Don't you know?'' he squealed between laughs.'' You really don't know? You're in _London_!''

No.

Nooooooooooooooooo.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

'' No!'' I yelled in horror.'' I'm in _where?!_''

'' London!'' he exclaimed again, and burst out into more peals of laughter. I squeaked, unable to make any other noise. Dang, dang, dang.

How could I have forgotten? Jeanie had _said_ I'd been transported to another time and _place_!

'' Aw, man!'' I said breathlessly.'' Awwwwwwwww, _man_!''

Mickey was still laughing too hard to speak.'' Imagine not knowing you were in London. How ridiculous. Where did you think you were? Mars?''

'' Aw, MAN!'' I wailed repeatedly.'' Awwww, man!''

A passerby from Oman gave me a weird look. I grinned weakly, spotting the Omani flag on his leather briefcase and shut up. Mickey was now doubled over laughing.

Now that I was silent, I could think more clearly. Maybe, just maybe, being in London wouldn't be such a bad thing. I would be able to get Harry Potter published more easily. That was something. And I could just hole up somewhere with Mickey as a guide, and start writing for six months straight. Unless Jeanie fixed my stick, which was doubtful.

It couldn't possibly be _that_ bad.

I had just decided on this when I spotted three men, one in a suit with a very red face, one in plain clothes, and one in a black uniform, and then I tapped Mickey on the shoulder and he saw them and stopped laughing abruptly.

'' Time to go!'' I sang before we both started running again, Mickey leading the way.

Yeah, time to go start my little ambitious adventure for real.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter Four:**_

Mickey led me down a deserted alley a few blocks away. By then I was gasping for breath, completely exhausted. The alley was everything but empty, apart from a few fire escapes on either side of the two buildings we were in between, some garbage cans, and a few indignant cats, who yowled at us angrily.

I panted, my lungs burning with every breath. I really needed to get past that.

'' Did we lose 'em?'' I managed to say between pants.

Mickey was staring at me curiously.'' Yeah, 'course, but…do you have asthma or something?''

'' No,'' I said faintly, trying to breathe deeply. Instead, I was breathing like an old dog.

'' Then why are you all tired?'' demanded Mickey, tilting his head to one side.

'' Just—exhausted—running,'' I explained, coughing. Ow, my poor lungs. How they burned.

'' So you're just really unfit?'' he said, comprehension dawning, and I shot him a dirty look.

'' No,'' I said hoarsely, with as much indignance as I could muster.'' I am not unfit. Just lazy.''

'' That's even worse, isnt it?'' he said with a raised eyebrow and I decided I definitely did not like Mickey.

'' No, its not!'' I snapped, and took a deep breath to yell again.'' And its none of your business!''

'' Ooh, touchy,'' he said enthusiastically.'' I _definitely_ hit a nerve!''

I grunted – Mickey and I were _not_ going to get along – and stomped over a grime-covered door I'd mistaken as part of the walls lining the alley. There was a paper stuck to it, and I peered at it. It was too faded and covered in dust to read. I blew at it, and proceeded to get a faceful of dust and began coughing again.

Mickey smirked.'' That's not how its done, silly. Watch.''

He moved over to the dirty paper, and carefully edging towards the side, attempted to blow the dust away from an angle as I edged backwards rapidly, wary. He received a faceful of dust for his efforts as well and I burst out laughing.

'' Oh, yeah,'' I said, rolling my eyes.'' You showed me all right.''

He scowled and I decided to sacrifice my jacket's sleeve to read the paper. I wiped the heavy dust away carefully, wincing as my sleeve turned grey.

'' So what does it say?'' I asked, pulling my jacket off and slapping the sleeve to get the dirt off. He leaned closer to see.

'' 'Jones's Books and Antiques','' he read aloud.'' Oh! It's just the back door to some bookstore. I know it. Wanna check it out?''

I shrugged, then remembered I was planning on writing a book myself, so I nodded. Might as well make sure Harry Potter wasn't published yet at all.

I was pulling my jacket back on when my iPod fell out of the pocket. I groaned, hoping it wasn't broken, then bent down to get it, but Mickey was quicker than me.

He scooped it up and stared at it.'' What's this?''

'' My iPod…''

He held it away from him, holding it with two fingers like a dirty rag and scrunched his nose up.'' Your _what?_''

I sighed.'' iPod. MP3—music player. Like a Walkman.''

'' I've never heard of it before,'' he said suspiciously, now examining it closely.'' _Hold_… what's 'hold'? What does it do?''

Before I could stop him, he'd pushed the hold button back, and then jumped as it turned on and Pink burst out of the speakers. He tilted it this way and that until he found the white earbuds and put them close to his ear, muttering,'' Weird.''

He listened for a few seconds before looking back at me, perplexed.

'' Why does this lady keep shouting _'So what'_ ?''

I giggled.'' It's cool. I like this song.''

He made a face.'' It's _noise_.''

'' It's good noise,'' I corrected him, and he listened for a few more seconds before nodding reluctantly.

'' Yeah, I like it too. Not too bad,'' he admitted.'' I've never heard of it though.'' And then, nosy as he was, he pressed Menu before I could stop him and gazed at the screen, entranced.

'' What _is_ this?'' he demanded, finally looking up at me.'' Who are these people and where did you get this? If these are singers, I've never heard of them, and I've never seen anything like this.''

I sighed.'' You wouldn't believe me if I told you.''

'' You wouldn't believe the things I believe,'' he responded.

'' Okay then,'' I said doubtfully.'' It's your choice.''

And I told him everything.

Well, almost everything. I left out the parts that made me look too clumsy, or stupid. They weren't that important anyway; he didn't _have_ to know I'd _tripped_ over the stick, not found it as I claimed.

When I finished he looked up and stared at me.

'' You're right,'' he said, laughing.'' I don't believe you.''

I fumed.'' Told you so.''

He sighed.'' Fine, then. Let's say I _do_ believe you. What's the future like?''

'' Blech.''

He tilted his head at me curiously again.'' Okay, maybe I could begin believing you.''

Because of 'blech'? What a pessimist.

'' At any rate,'' he added,'' you believe yourself, I'm pretty sure. That's good enough for me. I've hung around with nutters plenty of times.''

I gaped at him. Great. Now I was going to spend the next six months wondering whether or not I was lying to myself or if I was nuts. Thanks a whole bunch, Mickey.

'' …so,'' he continued.'' You plan to write some lady's book before she thinks of it?''

'' Yeah,'' I said uncomfortably.'' She wouldn't know then, right? If I publish it first? And what you don't know cant hurt you…''

'' It's actually pretty brilliant,'' he agreed.'' I'd do that for sure. If I went back in time, I'd write 'Borderline'. It's been number one on the bestseller list for ages. Much better than going around pickpocketing.''

I swallowed.'' Not better. Different.''

He smirked at me.'' No, it's not. Stealing is stealing. Welcome aboard, mate.''

'' Aboard what?'' I asked, before I could start feeling guilty and give up my amazing idea. If Ma found out I'd stolen someone's idea…

'' Aboard the H.M.S. Life o' Crime,'' he said cheerfully.'' Although yours is definitely the most unique crime _I've_ ever heard of. For sure. And if what you said is true, about it breaking all the records, it's probably the most profitable too.''

Crime. I sincerely, sincerely hoped my mother did not hear of this. Or if she did, she would be so impressed she'd forget the basis of the idea, which is basically—stealing.

Okay, so I lied in the beginning when I said I stole and the rest of it without having any qualms about it. I have a few miniscule doubts. But I just decided to do it, not think about it, so I wouldn't get cold feet. Plus it wasn't really my fault, I mean, its Jeanie who gave me a bad stick.

Mickey was halfway to the grimy door by then.

'' Come on!'' he called excitedly.'' Didn't you want to check out the bookstore?''

I mumbled my reply and followed him. The door wasn't locked, although it did generate an unpleasant cloud of dust and dirt when it was opened, along with loud creaks and squeaks. Mickey swung it wide open with a flourish and called,'' Helloooooo?''

A little old man, wearing glasses, a shirt and trousers peered around a bookshelf and glanced at us. By the sour expression on his wrinkled face, I assumed he was a _grumpy_ old man.

'' Oh, hello, Mickey,'' he grumbled unenthusiastically.'' Using the backdoor for once?''

I knew it. My educated guesses are rarely wrong.

'' Aw, Mr. Jones,'' said Mickey,'' friends don't use front doors.''

'' Nor do shoplifters,'' agreed Mr. Jones, walking slowly, with a hand on his groaning back to come closer to Mickey.'' Keep your hands off the books and goods, m'boy.''

Mickey looked insulted.'' You know I would never shoplift you!''

The old man laughed skeptically, then coughed.'' Sure. Keep your hands off the counter then. And out of my pockets!''

Mickey sighed.'' Ya got me there, gramps. Okay, okay.''

I gave Mickey an incredelous look and he snapped,'' Oh, like you're a big angel yourself!''

I humphed, affronted, and stalked away towards the shelves. I heard the old man asking Mickey about me as I left.

'' New friend of yours, Mickey? Another thief, perhaps?''

'' No, no, Mr. Jones. Maybe another thief, but no friend of mine,'' I heard him say, and I was sure he had a huge, mischievous grin on his face.

The man groaned as he turned around to observe me walking around. Something in him cracked, but I was used to the same from most old people, so I wasn't too worried. He groaned again.

'' Arthritis,'' he said crabbily.'' And tuberculosis, and gastroentritis, and influenza, and probably a bad heart. I tell you, m'boy, if there's a disease, I've got it today.''

'' That's too bad, sir,'' I heard Mickey say sympathetically. The man ignored him and shouted at me.

'' Hey, you!''

'' Lara,'' I called back, looking through a bunch of classics.

'' What was that?'' he snapped, cupping his ear.'' I think I'm going deaf too, if you'd believe my luck, you'll have to raise your voice.''

He coughed before he could finish from the effort, muttering about his health and luck to Mickey.

'' Lara!'' I yelled.'' My name is Lara!''

'' Well, Lara, you keep your hands to yourself, I'm watching you.''

'' You'd do better to watch Mickey,'' I said to myself as I finally found the newest books, the most recently released. Mickey's _Borderline_ book did seem pretty popular. It was the third print, and already advertised winning loads of awards on the cover. There were plenty of Goosebumps, a few Spooksvilles, and multiple others in the children's section.

But no Harry Potter.

Soon, maybe in a year or two, it would have its own section and advertise its own plentiful awards on the cover. But for now, it wasn't published yet.

And let me tell you, I was ecstatic about it. Oh, yeah. I was on the road all right.

'' Mickey!'' I called, stumbling back to where he and the old man stood.'' Come along, I'm done.''

'' Grabbed yourself a few items, eh?'' said the man suspiciously, groaning again, then coughing as I shook my head indignantly.

Honestly. This is what you get from hanging about with nine-year-old pickpockets. Constant suspicion.

We left the store hurriedly, then doubled back to the alley for lack of a better place to go to. Mickey seemed to be in a very good mood.

'' That man reminds me of you,'' he told me contentedly as I paced up and down the alley, wondering what to do next.

'' He did, now, did he?'' I said, glaring.

'' Yeah. Did you hear him cough? He sounded exactly like you do after three seconds' run.''

In my defense, I usually last at least three _minutes_ before sounding like that. But I couldn't really deny it. He also shared the ability to gripe and complain with me. And a love for books. I was halfway through realizing the amount of similarities we had before it suddenly hit me that wasn't a _good_ thing.

'' Not to mention you're both incredibly gullible!'' he crowed, and when I spun around to see what he was talking about, he was holding out a wad of cash.

My mouth dropped open.

'' Mickey!'' I hissed furiously.'' You just robbed an old man!''

Okay, I'm not a perfect angel myself, but I don't stoop to robbing old men. I mean, I might have. But the vision of my mother if she found out was more than enough to keep me from doing it. So, feeling pleased there was someone out there worse than I was, I decided to yell at him _without _feeling like a hypocrite.

Mickey gave me a level, steady stare that gave me the annoying feeling he was about to win this argument. He shrugged at me.

'' Okay, so maybe I'm not the greatest person on earth,'' he said, and I knew immediately there was a 'but' coming up.'' But (aha!) at least I rob stuff because I need it. I've got no home, no money, and I'm on the run from the police so I don't get thrown into an orphanage. What's your excuse?''

Dang.'' Er—''

'' You haven't got one,'' he answered for me.'' You're just selfish and insecure and you're doing this to feel important and smart.''

'' Actually,'' I said desperately.'' I _have_ got one. I'm stuck all by myself in a time that isn't my own.''

'' How long are you here again?''

'' Six months.''

'' And you want to make more money than the Queen _just_ to survive in six months?''

'' No, but—''

'' So you _haven't_ got an excuse. You could just steal enough to keep you alive, instead of so much just because you're selfish.''

Pause.'' Well—''

'' Look, I win, fair and square!''

I shrugged.'' Okay, so I suppose I _am_ selfish and greedy. I admit to my faults.''

Mickey sighed.

'' You _idiot_,'' he muttered.'' You just ruined my fun! You're not supposed to admit to them. I'm supposed to blame you, you realize I'm right and break down in shameful tears. _Then_ I win.''

'' Oh, sorry.''

He shrugged.'' Anyway, let's move on from the moral talk. We haven't got any, so—''

'' Speak for yourself!''

'' If I didn't want to change the subject, I would point out that we've already gone through that and you admitted you have no morals. But moving on. I think I have enough money to get us a place to stay.''

I'd been about to comment on the 'no-morals' thing (I _do_ have morals! I don't rob old men!) when his next sentence sunk in.

'' What do you mean, enough money? How much d'you rob? And what 'us'? What place to stay?''

He sighed impatiently.'' Okay, so maybe I emptied the cashier. He had a good sales day.''

'' You—ehh?''

'' I know, imagine what he's like on a _bad_ day. But yeah, a few hundred should be enough, don't you think?''

'' Enough for what?'' I said slowly, deciding to ignore the money comment. I would have to get used to ignoring things with Mickey, it seemed.

'' Well, if you're going to write that book of yours for six months, you'll need…''

'' Wait,'' I was actually touched.'' You'd give me your money to write my book?''

He snorted.'' You stupid? If you make any, its fifty-fifty.''

I scowled. Dang.'' You realize you're risking a lot, aren't you? I might be lying.''

He was unperturbed.'' So? All I have to spend it on would be food, a place to stay, and maybe a Gameboy. You wouldn't cost me too much more, its just pen and paper. I figure if it works, and it might, it'd be more than worth it.''

Good point.

'' Okay, good point, Mini Mobster,'' I said reluctantly, and he glared at me. But that's okay. I discovered we glared more than we communicated, which was actually less aggravating.

'' Yeah. I know a really cheap hotel,'' he added, eyes lighting up as he thought.'' Yeah, yeah! I know what to do!''

'' You're the boss, Tiny,'' I said obediently. He was. He led me – thankfully walking – all over town, chattering the entire time, while I thought of new nicknames for him ( so far my favourites were Stuart Little and Itty Bitty ) until we reached a part in London that wasn't entirely crowded. Although, to be fair, it was on the outskirts.

He stopped in front of a ramshackle little building and flung out his arms.'' Ta da!''

'' _This_,'' I said, lip curling,'' is your 'hotel'?''

He was gesturing at a fairly small, fairly run-down place. It was built of wood that had once probably been white but was now dark grey with peeling paint. The garden was small and uncared for, the plants wilted, and the only thing that made it recognizable was a small sign tacked into the garden next to the front steps. It read, '' Rooms for Rent.''

He had to be kidding.

'' You've got to be kidding,'' I said.

He ignored me and barged on into the horrible little garden, throwing the swinging gate open as though it wasn't there. I glanced around at the rest of the houses surrounding the area. It wasn't particularly a London-y place, apart from the fog, but more suburban, on the outskirts. And definitely less glamorous than the city. And as if that wasn't bad enough, he'd picked the least glamorous house of them all. Heaving a sigh, I hurried after him to help him change his mind. Or give him a swift kick if he didn't.

'' Who lives here?'' I said as I caught up.'' The Addams family?''

He rolled his eyes and clamped his mouth shut, then glared at me.

'' Frankenstein, then?'' I offered.

He said nothing.

'' Maybe Frankenstein _and_ the Addams family?''

He shot me a very annoyed look. I was pleased. Still as irritating as ever.

'' Nah, you're right,'' I decided.'' Too poor for the Addams family. These are the cousins fortune _didn't_ like, so they ended up here.''

Mickey gritted his tiny teeth.

'' Possibly with Dracula,'' I added.'' Or this whole place could just be Dracula's _coffin_. It's certainly small enough.''

He rang the doorbell. Believe it or not, there was a gong followed by the sound of flapping wings. _Dong – flewpflewpflewp_…

'' See?'' I raised my eyebrows and Mickey growled.

The door opened. I prepared to scream and push Mickey first so they'd eat him while I ran away—slowly. But it was only a timid-looking woman with dirty-blonde hair.

'' Yes?'' she asked shyly. Mickey cleared his throat and she looked down at him.

'' Hello. We're here to rent your extra rooms,'' he said bluntly.

'' It's rather costly for little children,'' she said, still mild, but I saw that ' aha, business' look in her eyes.

'' I'm Michael and this is my sister Laura,'' he said calmly.'' We'd be happy to pay. We'd pay extra if you kept out of our business. We don't really want any questions asked.''

He told me later this was because these people were known for being really nosy, trying to get more money out of guests.

'' Well, you can pay a hundred pounds, for both of you, a week,'' she said firmly. I had no idea whether this was too much or too little, but Mickey seemed intent on arguing anyway.

'' A hundred!'' he protested.'' This place is a hovel! Seventy-five at most.''

Her eyes darted between us, glinting as she thought. She licked her lips.'' No.''

'' Can we afford a hundred?'' he asked me in a low voice. I shrugged. What was he asking me for? He was the boss!

Apparently, as he told me later as well, this was to discourage them from raising the price. Good for him.

'' Okay,'' he said and the lady smiled greedily. She actually rubbed her hands together and led us in. The house was plain but mercifully clean, with rose-patterned wallpaper and potted plants and knick-knacks here and there. We were led up the creaky, rickety stairs and down a hall to the right, where two doors, painted a fading white, awaited.

'' Your rooms,'' she said sweetly. Mickey handed her the money. She snatched it away and tucked it into her apron, then added,'' Oh, and we don't feed you.''

'' That's fine,'' said Mickey.'' I'd rather not get poisoned anyway, Miss…?''

'' Martha,'' she said amiably and I smiled. Wow, a thick-skinned host. That would make life much easier for her, with two of the most irritating guests in the world.

I took the door on the right and Mickey took the one on the left as Martha left. I eyed my new room. It was rose-patterned as well, with a bed, a bathroom (thank God), a table and a carpet, but that was pretty much it. I sat down on the bed quietly, chewing a bit of Pringles, then when it was finished I rolled over, plugged in my iPod ( it was fully charged, and I had the charger, fortunately, since it never left my pocket ) and listened, blocking away as many confusing thoughts as I could.

I felt strange. This was the first time I'd ever been away from home like this. No doubt Ma would murder me twice if she could see me now, but since the situation was out of my hands I wasn't too worried. I was excited at what I'd accomplished—I'd never dreamed I'd have a day like this, excited at what I was going to do—writing Harry Potter! And most of all, hopeful. When you spend day after day watching your brother get cheered on and falling over your own two feet, it's refreshing to know you can _do_ something.

I was satisfied. Good thing too, because that was before I started getting those nuisance guilty feelings and everything.

And strangely enough, I wasn't lonely. Lonely was for people who preferred the company of others. I had always preferred my own, with maybe a book or two. I mean, I am much more interesting than other people anyway. Okay, kidding (well, not really) but I did prefer being alone than being surrounded by people. When you fall over alone, nobody's there to witness it. I liked it. So I wasn't even lonely. To be honest, I didn't even miss my family that much. Sorry, like I said, bad moral role model.

A few hours later, when it was dark, Mickey knocked on the door, yelling. He seemed very happy to have a room of his own at last, I'd noticed. If he wasn't so, so annoying, I could spend some time feeling sympathetic.

'' You awake, Lara—Laura?''

I pulled my earphones out of my ears and called back,'' Yeah, what?''

'' I got you your paper and pens!''

I cheered inwardly and said,'' Great! I'll start writing right away!''

I opened the door and he tossed a bundle of shopping in, then backed right out.

'' I got a new Gameboy for me, too!'' I heard him say happily, and then he was lost to the world in his own room, happily twiddling dials.

I unwrapped the bundle. He'd got a bunch of food, and loads of paper, fortunately. I shook the bag upside down and a package of pens fell out as well. Since I'd just eaten, I was able to ignore the will of my stomach and grabbed the paper, a pen, pulled the table near the bed, and sat down, my pen poised to write. I could remember every word of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, having read it nearly a thousand times. I could remember it so clearly!

I didn't stop to think about what I was doing. I just leaned over, and started to write steadily, the words slipping down my brain and into the paper.

' _Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved with anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense._

_Mr Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings…_'

This was going to be fun.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter Five:**_

_' All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby dragon flopped onto the table. It wasn't exactly pretty; Harry thought it looked like a crumpled—'_

A what?

I groaned. My head, my hands, my arms were aching. Particularly my wrists. After two days of continuous writing – reciting, it felt more like – I was extremely tired. I was incredibly proud of what I'd accomplished though. I was so proud, in fact, I completely forgot to feel guilty about the whole 'stealing someone else's work' thing. But either way, two days, about 180 pages' worth, of writing and remembering, is no small feat. My eyes were so sore.

I could tell that my work was very close to the original. I remembered the wording perfectly, particularly the names, dates and similies. The style was important as well, it was the style that caught people's attention. Where I couldn't remember the exact phrase, I would make one as close as I possibly could. I kept it almost a perfect copy to JK Rowling's original, which hadn't technically been written yet.

But sometimes it got hard, when things slipped my mind. Like now, for instance. Harry had thought it looked like _what?_ I struggled to remember, squinting at the ceiling.

'' Mickey,'' I mused.'' Mickey! What do you think sounds like a better description for an ugly baby dragon? A crumpled black lizard, or a crumpled black leather wallet?''

Mickey wasn't listening. He'd gotten bored of his Gameboy about a day and a half after he'd got it, and found a new obsession: My iPod. He had been listening to it ever since.

It's pretty hard to concentrate when a nine-year-old boy is singing Linkin Park and High School Musical at the top of his voice. At the same time.

'' ' So so what? I'm still a rockstar! I got my rock moves, and I don't neeeeeeeeed youuuuuu…' ''

'' Mickey!'' I yelled. He didn't hear me.'' MICKEY!''

I pushed the table back and strode over to him, then pulled out the earphones. He glared at me.

'' Hey! Give that back, Lara!''

'' No, you loud, obnoxious little boy!'' I shouted, my patience going down the drain.'' It's _mine_! You wont get it back unless you help me!''

I was so exhausted of writing I was close to tears. The trouble is, writing was the fastest I could get it done with. Even if I'd been in my time, I was no good at typing on Word. My fingers tend to slip over the keyboard.

I held the iPod high over my head. It annoyed him no end when I did that, since he was too small to reach it.'' Now listen, you! What's a better description for a baby dragon, a—''

Oh! It hit me in a second. My eyes widened.

''—hang on, never mind. I just remembered. A crumpled black _umbrella_!''

Mickey scrunched up his nose at me as I scrambled back to the table.'' That doesn't sound like a baby dragon one bit.''

'' That's the point,'' I said, without having a single idea what I was saying. I tossed the iPod back at him absently, and he fumbled for it, grinning widely.

'' ' Soaaaaaaaaaaaring, flyyyyyyyyyyyyying…crawwwling in my skiiiiin, these wouuuuuuuunds they will not heaaaaaaaal—there's not a staaaaaar in heaven that we cant reaaaa—' ''

I groaned as he started putting the songs together again, covering my ears. I wished I could just delete them off—but there was no such thing as iTunes. Yet.

Unfortunately.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

_' Hagrid seized Harry and Hermione and hoisted them off the path behind a towering oak. He pulled out an arrow and fitted it into his crossbow, raising it, ready to fire. The three of them listened. Something was slithering over the dead leaves nearby: it sounded like a cloak trailing along the ground. Hagrid was squinting up the dark path, but after a few seconds, the sound faded away.'_

I paused. I didn't like the way that paragraph sounded, for some reason. I wasn't sure why. I knew that was what I was _supposed_ to write—but I badly wanted to change _something_. Anything to prove it was me, Lara, who had written this version. I was sticking so close to the original it was scaring _me_. Not to mention I was able to write better with Mickey safely out of the way, sleeping in his own room. I sighed and tried my own little addition:

_' Hagrid seized Harry and Hermione by their robes and hoisted them off the path, safely behind a towering oak. He fumbled at his crossbow, fitting an arrow into it, readying himself. He raised it carefully, ready to fire at any moment. The three of them nearly stopped breathing to listen intently. They heard a strange, slightly ominous sound._

_Sssssssss…_

_Harry looked around at Hermione and she stared back, eyes wide. It was a slithering noise, a snake or perhaps—then he realized what it was. It sounded like a cloak trailing along the ground. Hagrid squinted, looking around in the darkness, at the path, but the sound faded away a few seconds later.'_

Okay, so perhaps all I did was add a few adjectives and drag it out. I know, I know. But I couldn't help myself, I needed to change it in a way that wouldn't harm the story, but was enough to satisfy me. I liked adding to it. But after some thought, I realized it was a bad idea; too many adjectives would bore kids, and it was a children's book first and foremost. What a pity. My reading had supplied me with a vast vocabulary I could have used.

But the little changes suddenly made me enjoy writing a whole lot more. I wrote on into the night, until I couldn't help myself. I was almost done, one little change wouldn't hurt…

_' '' I'm sorry, Harry!'' she wailed.'' Snape came out and asked me what I was doing, so I said I was waiting for Flitwick, and Snape went to get him, and I've only just got away. I don't know where Snape went.'' '_

That suddenly became:

_' '' Sorry, Harry!'' she wailed, apparently more upset at herself than he was.'' Snape came out and asked me what I was doing, so I couldn't think of anything except that I was waiting for Flitwick, and Snape went to get him at once, and I've only just got away. Even worse, I don't know where Snape went, I'm sorry.'' '_

Again, pretty much the same thing over. But I was happy. I wrote away, until four a.m, and then I just had to get some sleep. Only a few more hours writing, and I'd be done. Amazing. Three full days to write a story that had taken so much longer originally. Then I remembered it had taken longer because it was being created, not just remembered. Oh.

Although, if you ask me, remembering is a lot harder. It's bad enough it reminded me of the frantic writing I do in exams, but my poor head's pounding was enough to make me decide this was the _last_ series I would _ever _cheat and steal.

I sank into lovely, Jeanie-free dreams. And then I had a not-so-lovely, Mickey-full, awakening.

'' It died!'' he was wailing in horror, shaking me so hard my teeth kept clicking.'' It's DEAD!''

'' What died?'' I cried in alarm, hastening to jump out of bed. Instead, I got tangled in the sheets and ended up falling onto the floor with an embarrassing, bruise-inducing _thud_. I winced. Mickey paused wailing to snicker, then continued.

'' It's all black, all gone, _all gone_!'' he moaned, shuddering. He took in a deep breath, and I thought I heard a sob.'' Nothing! All my beautiful melodies, dead to the world!''

I had a sudden sneaking suspicion of what he was going to say.'' What happened, Mickey?''

'' The music player!'' he shrieked at me.'' My wonderful iPod! It _died_!''

'' Oh, thank God,'' I blurted out in relief, then did a double take.'' _Your_ iPod?! _Excuse_ me?''

'' What did you just say?'' he said, his face darkening as he looked at me.'' Are you _happy_ the one joy in my life is gone?''

'' Yes, I am happy the one thing that could make you any more irritating than you already are is gone,'' I said calmly, attempting to crawl back into bed. No such luck.

'' You complete, heartless monster!'' he yelled and smacked me on the shoulder.

Ow!

'' Why you—'' I sat up at once, glaring at him.'' Will you quit this nonsense? Some of us have a full day of work ahead.''

Oh, my God, I never thought I'd ever say that.

'' My iPod just went dead,'' he said furiously.'' And you're sitting in bed acting as if nothing's happened? What will guide me through the dark hours I spend with you?''

'' Please,'' I retorted.'' Be my guest. _Don't_ spend them with me.''

I paused for a second, then added:

'' And it's not _your_ iPod!''

'' But my music!'' he screeched desperately.'' What am I to sing along to?''

'' Your voice drowned it out anyway!'' I yelled back.'' You seem to like the sound of your own obnoxiousity well enough, you can sing alone just fine!''

( Yes. I know obnoxiousity is not a word. He didn't, though. )

He paused, then opened his mouth to try it out. I buried my head in the pillow, trying to drown out the noise.

'' ' It's easieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer to RUUUUUUUUUNNN…it's too late to pologiiiiiiiiiize—''

He broke off, thankfully, before he completely ruined my two favourite songs for me, and I sighed from under the pillow.

'' It's not the same!'' he shook his head desperately, then wailed,'' not the same!''

I considered giving him the charger. But there was one thing I needed to get straight first.

'' Of course it doesn't sound the same. You're mixing the songs up.''

His jaw dropped open.'' I am not!''

'' You just mixed up Linkin Park and One Republic,'' I said in exasperation.

His blank look told me he couldn't care less.

'' Listen to the whole song,'' I advised as I got out of bed, yet again, and snuck the charger out of my jacket pocket, on the table.'' And I'll bring the iPod back to life.''

His eyes lit up.'' Okay! I promise!''

I plugged it into the charger, and he sat down next to it, listening blissfully.

And despite everything, he was singing Avril Lavigne and Rihanna at the same time three seconds later.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

I was almost done.

One more paragraph…

_' '' Oh, I will,'' said Harry, and they were surprised at the grin that was spreading over his face.'' _They_ don't know we're not allowed to use magic at home. I'm going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer…'' '_

I loved that paragraph. Despite everything, I wouldn't change it for the world. It only mattered to me, either way, because to everyone else this was my very own story, but I would know. And I loved that last paragraph. It was a keeper.

Actually, the whole book was a keeper. I'd only changed very few things, or the wording of things I couldn't remember. But all the happenings, and most of the narration and speech were pasted to my mind, so all in all, only a very fussy fan would even distinguish it from the real thing back home.

And I was really proud!

Finally, after all these years, I knew I was good at something.

So perhaps that something is stealing someone else's books. Still, something!

I wondered vaguely how Jeanie would react, as I gathered up all the paper in order. It was actually relatively little, maybe a hundred and fifty pages, because it was large, A4 paper, bigger than the book had been, and my handwriting was really tiny. Cool.

Mickey strolled into the room. It was late evening of my fourth day of writing. I had calculated it – okay, not very well, I admit, but a rough estimate – and at this rate, I could very easily finish all seven books before I went back to my time.

This slightly confused me – who was going to get the royalties for fourteen years until I grew up? And how? – but I was depending on my next chat with Jeanie to clear it up.

Anyway, moving on.

Mickey peered at the paper with interest.

'' You're kidding!'' was the first thing he said.'' You finished it? Really? All that?''

'' Yeah!'' I said excitedly and his grin grew wider than a slice of watermelon.

'' So—can I read it?'' he asked. I hadn't thought of that. But what did it matter anyway if he didn't like it? It wasn't _my_ book, and I _knew_ it was going to be a worldwide hit. Plus he was the intended audience for it anyway.

He took it from me gingerly and spent the rest of the night reading it. I could have read it in about two hours or so, but he spent all night, until long past midnight, poring over it. I took that as a good omen. He must like it.

Finally, after I'd had myself a good nap and took advantage of my unengaged iPod, and his Gameboy, he looked up, eyes red.

'' Well?''

He looked surprised.'' I actually liked it. It's pretty cool. But I cant see how it would make someone richer than the Queen.''

I smiled.'' You see, _everyone_ thinks its cool.''

'' But everyone thought _Borderline_ was cool. It didn't make more money than royalty!''

I grinned again.'' Ah, but did _Borderline_ get turned into a movie?''

''…no.''

'' There you go. Five, highly successful, movies, in fact.''

'' Are they any good?'' he asked, already caught up in the story and pretending to do the _Swish and Flick_ with a pen.

'' Oh, no, they keep getting worse. The first couple were great, the rest not so much. But it's Harry Potter. Even the worst movie could sell if it was Harry Potter.''

He looked confused.'' That's pretty weird. It's a great book and all, but…huh. Weird.''

I clapped him on the back.'' And that, my friend, is the future.''

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

'' That one,'' I said, pointing, and Mickey scowled.

We'd borrowed Martha's newspapers for a little assisstance. Actually, we hadn't borrowed. Well, Mickey was the one who fetched them, so I'm guessing it was closer to _stole_ Martha's newspapers.

Oh, what have I become?

I thought about it, and realized suddenly I hadn't actually changed.

Although I'd discovered the ability to write entire books from memory. Not bad. I thought I was a good reader—but no. I am an _amazing_ reader!

And sometimes, I'm modest about it too. Like when Mickey expressed his awe at how I was able to write it like that, I just said,'' Guess I'm brilliant that way.'' And I didn't even brag. Ha!

If it'd been Chump, he would have been halfway through describing how he'd done every little step play-by-play. So Ha! again.

We were now going for Step Two. Contacting a publisher.

We wrote to every publisher's address we found, at the back of books and in newspapers. The ones that were near we sent a photocopied copy of the story. We'd even paid someone to type it up for us so it could look impressive once we handed it to a publisher in person, not a raggedy handwritten copy.

Now we were scouring newspapers for the nearest publishing company we could go to.

Being near London, there were several. Mickey and I cut out the addresses and laid plans to visit them in order, from Most Likely To Agree, to Most Likely To Kick Us Out.

I wanted to hurry. I couldn't be sure JK Rowling herself hadn't already finished it, so I had to get it published before she even tried to contact any publishers, I hoped. But it was still early in the year. She was probably still editing it.

I really hoped.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

As it turned out, the publishing was harder than the writing. JK Rowling had had difficulty publishing it at first, I knew. But she'd managed it.

Now us? We'd been kicked out by every single place we'd gone to. Because apparently, we had something the author did not.

The ability to irritate people on the spot. So, as you can see, this was going to be harder than I'd thought.

The first place we visited, Hockman & Hockman's Publishing House, was a complete disaster.

We entered the fancy office of Mr. Hockman. So far, he'd seemed interested when I told him a brief outline. He even said it helped that I was young, would make it more phenomenal if it was indeed the children's book of the century. I hadn't even been lying when I said that.

'' So, Lara,'' he said as Mickey and I sat down on the squeaky leather chairs of his office. He took a place behind the desk and combed the few strands of hair on his forehead across, in an effort to hide his bald spot. I wanted to tell him it wasn't working, but I kept my mouth shut.

Mickey, however, did not.

'' Oi, sir,'' he piped up as Mr. Hockman brushed the few hairs with his fingers.'' That's a bad idea, mate. Makes you look balder than ever.''

I groaned. Oh, dang.

'' What?'' said Mr. Hockman, playing the idiot.

'' You know, pushing those last little strands across your scalp?'' Mickey, instead of quitting the conversation, prodded on.'' Bad. Makes your bald spot look striped.''

Oh, _dang_.

'' Bald spot? What bald spot?'' said Mr. Hockman, trying to laugh it off in hopes that Mickey would quit.

He didn't. His eyes widened and he said, surprised,'' You didn't see it? You should, you've got a gigantic patch of shiny skin right on your egghead! That's why you should comb your hair over it, you know. Doesn't make it shiny enough—''

'' Never mind my brother!'' I said, kicking Mickey in the shin, out of sight. I gave the man a huge smile.

Mickey yelped,'' Ow!''

'' Anyway, Lara,'' he said, looking a lot less genial than he had a moment ago.'' What can I help you with?''

'' Well, sir, I need to publish my book,'' I said at once.'' It's been all I can think of the past year, and everyone who's read it insists it should be published. I can just tell it's going to be a fantastic success. Children will love it. It introduces them to a whole new magical world right under their noses, and I bet even adults will like it too. And I've got brilliant ideas for more of it, to continue the series, you know.''

I know. Fantastic speech, if I do say so myself. _Why_ is it that I'm an excellent liar but no good in normal conversation?

Mickey nodded throughout the entire thing.

'' Well, it _does_ appear to be intriguing,'' said Hockman encouragingly.'' I'll certainly be giving it a thorough read. Most promising. I do believe Hockman & Hockman, if it is as good as you promise, would be glad to publish your book.''

I couldn't believe it. It was so easy! I felt myself give him a blinding smile.

And then Mickey interfered.

'' So who's Hockman?'' he asked.

Hockman gave him an uneasy grin, trying to pretend he liked him.'' Why, its me, dear boy!''

'' I know _that_,'' he said impatiently.'' Who's the _other_ Hockman?''

'' Oh—my grandfather,'' said Hockman stiffly.'' We started the business together.''

'' Wow, your grandfather's still alive?'' said Mickey in surprise, and I nearly strangled him then and there.'' He must be really old by now, I mean, what are you, sixty?''

Hockman gritted his teeth. I felt so sorry for him.

'' No, young man, my grandfather is healthy and well,'' he half-snarled.'' It'd be a pleasure if you would just stop talking.''

'' Oh, one last thing,'' Mickey assured him.'' Just genuinely curious—I mean, what a name! Hockman! I bet you got called Sockman at school, didn't you? Because I know this kid, Jack Hockman, and we call him Sockman all the time. Why'd you choose it for your _company_ then?''

'' Jack Hockman is my son!'' suddenly Mr Hockman was yelling, outraged.'' Are _you_ the one who came up with that nickname? He hates it!''

Mickey gulped.'' No, sir! I j-just—it wasn't me, some other kid, Jack's a nice kid—''

Hockman stood up, breathing hard through his nose.

'' I'm sorry, young lady,'' he snapped at me.'' I cant be of any help to you. Please get out.''

I gripped Mickey as hard as I could by the arm, and dragged him out of the chair.'' But – can I leave my boo—?''

'' OUT!'' roared Hockman and we decided this might be one of those times in which we had to obey a certain shouted order, so we did.

I was going to kill Mickey, but he promised to keep his mouth zipped on the next one.

Not that I was going to fall for it. I knew his promises were worth dirt. Actually, dirt was much more valuable. But I scared him into shutting his mouth or else.

Unfortunately, I opened _mine_.

The next candidate was Bookworm Apple Inc. Once again, we were ushered into a Mrs Reid's office, this one just as fancy as Hockman's, only brighter in colour.

We sat down on the bright yellow chairs, and I gave Mickey my deadliest glare as Mrs Reid entered.

She was young, in her early twenties, most probably, and thin, wearing a tight, bright green dress and enough jewelry to weigh down an elephant. Then as she came closer I saw she wasn't young one bit, but she'd had so much plastic surgery she couldn't move her face.

Mickey opened his mouth, clearly to comment on it.

_Don't_! I mouthed frantically, and he shut it again regretfully.

'' So, what's your name, dear?'' Mrs Reid asked automatically. When she moved her mouth the skin on her cheeks stretched so tight it became shiny.

'' Lara,'' I said, and closed my mouth before I could say anything else.

'' How old are you? We don't take documents to be published in the 9-12 section by anyone younger than twelve,'' Mrs Reid warned me.

'' I'm about fourteen,'' I answered, hypnotised by how robotic her face was. Her eyebrows hadnt moved at all since she'd come in. I guessed their wasn't enough slack skin to move them.

'' Fourteen?''

'' That's probably less than the nose jobs you've had, right?'' I blurted out without thinking. She stiffened ever-so-slightly, but chose to ignore it, to my relief. I mean, I had to get Harry Potter published! No time for being myself. Next to me, Mickey was in silent hysterics over the comment.

'' So what's the name of the book you've mentioned?'' she began sharply.

'' Harry Potter,'' I replied.

She remained expressionless.'' I don't like it.''

'' Oh, are you frowning?'' my mouth moved before my brain could think.'' I couldn't tell.''

Mickey burst out laughing. She pursed her enormous lips at me.

'' How rude,'' she said without any change in expression. I had to clap a hand over my mouth to stop myself saying anything.

'' Er—so why don't you like it?''

'' It's not catchy, not informative.''

'' Oh, wait!'' I said hastily. I'd been so distracted I'd forgotten.'' It's not just Harry Potter, sorry. It's Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.''

'' Hmm…philosopher…I wonder,'' she appeared to be thinking.'' We'll see. Might attract attention, I suppose, but the word philosopher could give children the wrong impression…

we'll have to read it first and see if we don't need another title.''

'' It could be called Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone,'' I offered. Her face remained set in stone.

'' That's nice,'' she said. This was driving me crazy. I had no idea what she was thinking unless she spoke.

'' I'm sorry,'' I blurted out,'' but how many surgeries have you had? Do you know your face doesn't move an inch? It's so shiny.''

She didn't answer.

'' Hello?''

'' I think she's glaring at us,'' whispered Mickey.

'' Oh, are you angry?'' I said, accidentally patronizing.'' That's okay. I couldn't tell.''

'' I'm furious,'' she said coldly. We peered at her face. It was smooth as stone. And shiny as a balloon, might I add.

'' Okay,'' I muttered.

'' I'm very insulted,'' she continued, her voice heating up.'' And I'd like you to get out of my office. I've never had plastic surgery in my life.''

'' Yeah, right!'' I exclaimed, again without thinking.'' And your lips are naturally bigger than your chin?''

Mickey topped over the chair from laughing too hard, though I honestly didn't think it was that funny. I was serious.

'' I'm outraged!'' she said, her face still completely solid.'' I'm so angry I'm going to throw this paperweight in your face if you don't leave this instant!''

'' You're joking, right?'' I said, unable to read that mask of a face. Her expression didn't change but I ducked as a paperweight flew over my head.

'' Okay, you weren't!'' I squeaked, and then Mickey and I were running full-tilt out of the office.

'' And don't come back again!'' she called after us. I imagined she was outraged.

'' And you better sue that surgeon!'' Mickey called back as we left, and another paperweight missed him by an inch.

We decided to be completely silent on candidate three.

'' Well, at least we learned a valuable lesson,'' I said as we walked to the next publisher.

'' What?''

'' People who have plastic surgery are _sensitive_,'' I sighed, and we moved on.

In our defense, it wasn't our fault the next publisher didn't work out. We didn't do anything, but they just didn't like the book. They said the plot was too complicated.

We went home at night, completely defeated. Six publishers, and not a single one had agreed to publish Harry Potter. If only they knew…

'' There're still more we can go to,'' said Mickey encouragingly as Martha opened the door to let us in.'' You'll just have to keep writing until one agrees. We cant get behind on time, if that Rolling lady of yours is writing it too.''

'' If you hadn't opened your big mouth,'' I snapped bad-temperedly as we went up the stairs,

'' Hockman might've published it.''

He sighed.'' I said I'm sorry already. Cant you let it go?''

'' Not really, no,'' I growled.'' I'm exceedingly good at harbouring grudges, and I'm in the grudg-y mood.''

'' Well, if you hadn't gone and told the lady her face was shiny…'' he argued back, but I wasn't in the mood to discuss it, I'd just wanted to blame him, so I stomped into my room and slammed the door in his face.

I know, I'm mean, yeah, yeah. It's okay. He had the iPod with him, he'd get over it.

But he was right, much as I loathed to admit it. I couldn't get behind, since I was only here six months. I should just keep writing until I could find someone to publish it.

So, after I spent some time doing my theraputical sulking, I picked up my pen and yet more paper, and began writing Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.

_' Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast at number four, Privet Drive. Mr Vernon Dursley had been woken up in the early hours of the morning by a loud, hooting noise from his nephew Harry's room. '_

Here I go again.

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**Author's Note: I'm going to pause here for a few reviews to see general opinions before posting the rest online ;] So REVIEW!! Anonymous reviews are accepted too, and concrit appreciated.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Thank you very much to everyone who reviewed and favourited! Keep 'em coming! And i will be updating regularly, i promise. Enjoy! **

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**_Chapter Six_**:

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets was proving harder to write than I'd anticipated. I'd forgotten I'd read the Philosopher's Stone when I was very young, so every word and every phrase had adhered to my mind. I'd read Chamber of Secrets when I was older, and reading more books, and I'd read it less often so the wording hadnt exactly glued to my mind. Don't get me wrong, the style, the plot, the conversation, the more memorable quotes and the more interesting phrases were all the same. But the wording was probably less like the original than the first one had been.

However, I doubted even someone who'd read the original would notice, much less make a difference to people who had never read it. Still good enough.

I was about halfway through at three a.m. the following day ( well, if you're fussy it's more like the day after the following day ). Chamber of Secrets had been one of my favourites, so I enjoyed writing it. All the happenings were very memorable. I wrote away, beginning the scene with the Duelling Club.

_' '' I wonder who'll be teaching us?'' mused Hermione, as they edged into the excited crowd.'' I heard Flitwick was a duelling champion when he was young. Maybe it'll be him.''_

_'' As long as it's not—'' Harry began, but he groaned before he could finish the sentence. Gilderoy Lockhart was walking onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum and accompanied by none other than Snape, wearing black and his usual sour expression. '_

I was pretty sure the wording wasn't exactly right, but I was also certain it was very close. That was how I felt about most of the book I'd written so far, except for the parts I could never, ever forget, like when they were late for the Hogwarts Express and Ginny'd shrieked she'd forgotten her diary, and when Ron was vomiting slugs and so on. _Those_ parts I remembered perfectly, wording and all. Others were more like the phrase above.

Still, not bad, not bad. Prisoner of Azkaban would have even more of that, because I hadnt read it thoroughly in a while, but the big books I knew word for word.

I also knew some parts I'd like to change, but I ignored the impulse. Nuh-uh, not me. I'd write them just like I'd read them.

No matter how much I wanted Voldy to win.

No _way_.

And that's that.

In case you hadn't noticed, that was me trying to convince myself. Because my will-power isn't very powerful. I'd need a lot of that.

But I mean, he should _so_ win!

I know, I know.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

'' So how much more is left?'' Mickey, irritating as always, had to interrupt me right in the middle of Harry's tense conversation with Tom Riddle.

Thank you, Mickey, I really needed that. I don't think.

'' Well,'' I said irritably.'' If you wouldn't interrupt me every five seconds, I'd be done. As it is, I'm _almost_ done.''

'' Oh,'' he said, and fell silent. I counted to five under my breath.

'' So which part are you in?'' he blurted out.'' I mean—oops. Sorry.''

I said nothing. I'd learned a week ago that was the most effective way to deal with Mickey.

He sighed and pulled out his Gameboy; I'd confiscated the iPod in the morning because he was just too noisy. He'd howled a whole ten minutes over that.

_' '' I'm not what?'' snapped Riddle._

_'' You're not the greatest sorceror in the world,'' said Harry heatedly, breathing fast.'' Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong, you didn't dare try to take over Hogwarts. Dumbledore always saw right through you, and he still frightens you now, wherever you're hiding.''_

_Riddle's upper lip curled in disgust as his smile was replaced by a very ugly look._

_'' Dumbledore has been driven out of this castle by the mere _memory_ of me!"' he spat.'_

So close!

Only a few more pages and I'd be done. This one had been far more challenging than the Philosopher's Stone, but I'd finished it faster because the events in it were more interesting, and I'd worded a lot of it myself instead of struggling to remember it word-for-word. I was still pretty impressed with me. Not bad, Lara, not bad at all.

'' I'm bored,'' Mickey's squeaky voice cut through my thoughts. I groaned.

'' What now, Mini Mickey?''

That's actually quite witty. Minnie…Mickey…see? Ha-ha.

'' Can we go out?''

'' Feel free.''

'' No, I meant _we_ as in…we. You come too!'' he insisted. To someone who'd spent the past forty-eight hours writing non-stop, this was actually a very tempting offer.

'' I don't know…''

'' Come on,'' he grinned mischievously and pulled a stack of money out of his pockets.'' I'll even invite you to a feast!''

Ooh. He had me there. But wait—

'' Where'd you get that money from? Is there still so much left of Mr Jones' ?''

He looked suddenly guilty.

'' Yeah?'' he said furtively.

'' Mickey…''

He bit his lip and sighed.'' Okay. I stole it.''

'' Not again!''

'' I couldn't help it!''

'' From _who_, you really little thief of a boy?''

'' From _whom_, you mean.''

'' No, I mean from who! Tell me now, Mickey! I thought we'd talked about this!''

'' Actually we didn't, you hypocrite.''

When did nine-year-olds start learning big words?

'' We didn't? Well, we are now. Where'd you get this?''

'' Uh,'' he squinted at my knees.'' Well. Remember stone-faced publisher lady?''

'' You robbed plastic-surgery publisher?!'' I shrieked.

'' No…''

'' Mickey!'' I growled. He winced.

'' It was the one after the next,'' he finally confessed.'' The ones that said it showed promise but just wouldn't cut it?''

'' Aw, Mickey!''

'' They'd left it lying around,'' he said defensively.'' And I'm a kleptomaniac. What did you expect?''

'' Have you been reading the dictionary?'' I demanded. Seriously, where'd he learn that word?

'' No,'' he said uncertainly.

'' Never mind that. I meant, why'd you take it? You know we don't need it.''

He raised his eyebrows.'' Oh, like we need to write Harry Potter.''

I fumed inwardly.

'' You know what we said,'' I said patiently.'' We agreed I'm a bad role model, and you wouldn't be throwing it at me. You even said, ' I'm smarter than you anyway' then. We got over that.''

He shrugged.'' Well, then, we've gotten past me being a thief too.''

'' No we haven't.''

'' You even said ' Well, I suppose you're right, I'll help you with it' then.''

'' I did not, you liar!''

'' Sure, _Lucy-Ann._''

'' What did we say about throwing that stuff back at me?''

'' Nothing, actually.''

I moaned. I hated, hated, hated arguing with Mickey. His mind worked in far too complex ways for a regular, nine-year-old, undersized urchin. He could have been a lawyer.

'' Mickey, we need to talk,'' I said at last. I sat down on the bed, and he made a face.

'' What about?'' he asked warily.

'' Why do you steal all that stuff?'' I asked bluntly.'' You're going to be richer than you can imagine so soon, Mickey. This thieving is very wrong. And _don't_ say I'm one to talk!'' I added hastily.

He sighed again.

'' Look, I cant help it,'' he mumbled.'' It's a habit. I see it, I steal it, that's my motto.''

I couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever met Mulch Diggums.

The truth was, despite everything, and all my flaws, I am still human ( my mother made sure of _that_ ) and despite everything, I felt sorry for Mickey. He was clearly alone and neglected, and I worried about what would happen to him. The stealing didn't bother me as much as the fact that if he kept stealing, he'd never mount up to anything. And he was a really smart kid, he could probably become really successful if he tried. All he needed was a chance, and I was willing to help him get it.

I know. I'm so deep sometimes I move myself to tears.

'' Mickey,'' I said as gently as I could. Which isn't much, frankly, but I'm working on it.'' What happened to your family?''

He looked uncomfortable.'' I don't know, Lara.''

'' Come on, Mickey. You can tell me. They're the reason you're on the streets. Maybe I can help.''

'' You cant,'' he said, lowering his gaze, not meeting my eyes. I pursed my lips as I thought.

'' Please, Mickey. You know I wont tell anyone.''

'' I don't know.''

'' Mickey, come on.''

'' You don't understand,'' he muttered, looking up at me at last.'' I don't _know_.''

'' You don't know what happened to your family?'' I demanded.

He grimaced.'' No.''

'' Wha…?'' I said stupidly.

'' I dunno!'' he blurted out at last.'' I just remember going around with all the people on the street, one of them used to look after me, and he taught me to read and write and stuff, and then he went away – he writes to me now and then – and I just learned to get along on the streets. When the shelter was built I started sneaking in there too. I just stay away from people who might report me to the police or those social services, and they'd stick me in an orphanage. I don't want to do that, y'see. I've got used to a life with no rules and no fuss, and I've saved up a lot of money from my pickpocketing, so someday I'll buy my own house and maybe even get a job. That's all. And I like it that way.''

'' Naw you don't!'' I said quietly.'' Every kid wants a family.''

Okay, personally, I don't think so. I'm just fine without mine. But that's what everyone but me says and I felt it was my responsibility to pass it on to Mickey, being the hypocrite that I am. Plus it's only been a week, you know. I might start missing them any day now.

Or in Chump's case, any year.

'' I don't,'' he said earnestly.'' I'm _fine_, Lara, really. I just miss having friends sometimes, that's all. Never a family though. I never had one and I don't really understand what the point is.''

Neither do I, really. I mean, getting twelve out of thirty in Geometry is no big deal if you lack a family. But Mickey does not need to know that.

I shrugged.'' Have it your way. But if you ever need to talk, I'm around. For approximately six months, anyway.''

He grinned.'' Cool.''

'' Of course, now you're in lots of trouble,'' I added breezily,'' because now that you're _fine_ you have no excuse for anything you do, you realize…?''

'' You know what? I'm hungry,'' said Mickey brightly.'' What are we having for dinner?''

I decided I had six whole months to write the six remaining books, and that the hurry was only in publishing, so it would be safe to take a break every now and then ( knowing me, now that I've started breaks, I'll be _writing_ every now and then ) so I relented and we went out.

At least, those were the excuses I made for my stomach. I was really hungry.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

'' That was really good!'' I said enthusiastically as Mickey and I exited a fast-food restaurant. We'd eaten so much I could barely talk, let alone walk.

'' Mmm,'' said Mickey in agreement. For such a small kid, he could pack away extreme quantities of food.

We walked along the crowded London roads, admiring the lack of Frankestein-esque houses like Martha's, when I was suddenly stopped by a stern-looking man in a shirt and jeans.

'' Excuse me, young lady,'' he said suspiciously.'' Do I know you?''

Oh, dang, dang, dang.

My mouth dropped open in shock. It was Plain Clothes. Did these people never quit?

'' No,'' I blurted out at once.'' And I'm not supposed to talk to strangers. Come on, Michael.''

Mickey stuck his tongue out at the man, for no apparent reason, and followed me. The man took a single step forward to block my way again. I had to stop short to keep a safe distance away, my sneakers skidding on the sidewalk, and eyed the man warily.

'' What do you want?'' demanded Mickey in his rudest tone. I nodded and raised my eyebrows at Plain Clothes defiantly.

Plain Clothes glanced at me intently, then comprehension dawned on his face. My heart sank.

'' You look remarkably like a girl I met recently,'' he said casually.'' She's on the run from authorities, or at least, she was. Her name was Lucy-Ann.''

'' My name's Laura,'' I said steadily, using the names Mickey had given Martha.'' And I'm not on the run from anyone. I've never seen you before in my life.''

'' Well, the funny thing is,'' drawled Plain Clothes, straightening his shirt,'' Lucy-Ann doesn't exist. So clearly, the girl was lying. And she does look _remarkably_ like you.''

My nerves were crackling. I twisted a strand of my hair, trying to think. The phrase ' on the run from authorities' had unnerved me, and I needed time to think.

'' How coincidential,'' I said at last.'' But I stand by what I said. I've never seen you before in my life.''

'' Yeah!'' Mickey put in helpfully.

'' Well…'' to my horror, Plain Clothes tapped a man next to him on his shoulder, and I gasped as I saw Suit – in the same suit, no less! – turn around and join him.

I groaned several times inwardly, and wished some more bad things on Jeanie, before trying to keep my expression as calm as Mickey's. Though admittedly Mickey's was only calm because he didn't realize the impending danger.

'' Say, old chap,'' said Plain Clothes briskly.'' Doesn't this girl look an awful lot like dear Lucy-Ann?''

Suit glanced at me and froze. I swore I saw a nerve twitch in his temple as his jaw clenched, his eyes widened, and he opened his mouth and hissed,'' _You_!''

Whatever happened to forgiving and moving on? What was _with_ these people?

I grinned weakly and squeaked,'' Er—me?''

Suit raised his arms as though to strange me, and Mickey suddenly noticed we had situation as he shouted,'' YOU! You annoying, horrible little girl! I—''

I mentally objected to the word ' little girl', as I spun on my heel, grabbed Mickey by the arm and screamed,'' Run!''

Suit blundered forward like a hypnotized security guard, his arms outstretched – I was certain he wanted to wring my neck – as Plain Clothes pulled out a mobile the size of a brick and shouted into it,'' We've found her! On the corner of tenth! Hurry!''

It was too late. Mickey and I were already speeding as fast as we could in the opposite direction, pushing aside surprised and presumably innocent pedestrians. Several bystanders objected loudly, but we didn't stick around to apologize ( and even if we had, I doubt we would have, anyway ). Mickey was several feet ahead of me, predictably, when I started to pant, my energy running out like water out of a leaky water balloon.

'' Come on, Lara!" he yelled desperately as I looked over my shoulder and saw Suit in hot pursuit, his suit all wrinkled and sweaty – if he had a wife, she was going to kill him over that – and his face a mask of hatred and manic fury.

What was wrong with this guy? I know I can be irritating, but, seriously, he was the one with issues. You don't see Mickey running from big officials in suits, and he's twice as bad as I am.

Mickey was almost dragging me to keep going when fear put wings on my feet, and I started to run again. Unfortunately, these wings weren't very long-lasting, as I started to feel exhausted again a block later, but I ran nevertheless, my lungs burning, adrenaline racing, and legs aching.

Plus I had a _murderous_ stitch in my side.

I felt surprisingly gleeful, three blocks later, to discover I was still able to run. Normally, by now, I'd be flat on the ground groaning for an ambulance. I'd never pushed myself this hard before.

Of course, typically, once I'd jinxed myself with this thought, it happened.

I was pumping my achy, tired legs frantically to keep up with Mickey ( yes, the little boy half my size runs faster than I do. Big deal ) when my toe caught on a protruding bit of pavement, and I was sent sprawling. I stumbled several times, my arms pinwheeling like a—pinwheel, and I tripped on my right foot trying to regain my balance.

I landed with a bone-jarring thump, leg-first, on the ground, thinking I'd broken something for sure, then the rest of me landed, my head banged into the gravelly ground, and I blacked out.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

And while I was out, give a guess who I met!

Jeanie dearest.

Duh.

We were back in my old garden again, which generated a surprising amount of nostalgia for someone who claimed not to be home-sick. I was even slightly pleased to see my old dustbins again. Nice, twenty-first century, dustbins.

Jeanie was sitting right on top of one of them, in her little girl form, blue eyes and hair and all. She even had her usual scornful expression on. How someone who made a colossal mistake can remain so self-confident and aloof is beyond me.

'' Well, well, well,'' she said coolly.'' Look who's out cold again.''

'' I resent that,'' I said, frowning.'' It's not my fault I've been blessed with eternal clumsiness and bad luck.''

She sneered at me.'' Not to mention an admirable talent for whining.''

'' That too,'' I said with a shrug. It's old news to me. I whine and complain so often even _I_ noticed it.

'' You probably want to know why you don't meet me every time you're out,'' she said suddenly, changing the subject. I nodded. I guessed she was offering information to make up for how ignorant she'd left me over the whole time-travel thing. As a person with considerable talent for whining, I feel it is my duty to stress yet again my luck to get the incompetent one from _those_ _in charge of the timeline_.

'' Well, in case you haven't figured it out already,'' she said, smirking as I scowled.'' We can only contact you if you're in a very deep sleep. That was why we met once when you were knocked out, and since Limbo usually exhausts a person, once after you'd been to Limbo. Incidentally, that's why a chosen person will usually take weeks to go back in time, maybe even months, after they're contacted, to ensure enough conversations to inform them of all the guidelines. Again, in your case, there was a trigger glitch and you were sent back ignorant as ever.''

I ignored the little sting at the end of the sentence. Mickey had given me good practice at that.

'' I have a few questions,'' I said, trying to sound as secure and cold as she did. I didn't manage it.

'' I am sure you do,'' she replied, rolling her eyes. I felt a sudden urge to strangle her, and then I realized that's what Suit must have felt like. I felt a small surge of sympathy for him, before concluding, despite that, he still had issues.

'' Well, for starters, you never finished last time's convo,'' I began.'' You didn't say _why_ I was sent back in time in the first place.''

'' Oh, you paid attention!'' Jeanie actually sounded pleased. There's one for the record books, I say.'' You're not as stupid as you look after all. Yes, there is a reason we choose certain people to go back in time.''

I narrowed my eyes at her. She ignored it.

'' Well, could you please make the effort and tell me what the reason _is_?'' I asked sarcastically.

She sighed.'' Very well. People who are chosen are usually people we in charge of the timeline can see great potential in, or people who really need a boost. They are sent back, quite simply, to learn a lesson. A month of adventure is usually more than enough to make people see their flaws and fix them. You were one of those people who was chosen because of your dishonesty, your inability to see your blessings, and countless others. The trips are harmless and without consequence, as they inevitably work.''

I was speechless. Half of me was very insulted. I'd been chosen because I was a bad person, not because I was special? Thanks a lot!

The other half was intrigued. I had great potential. Unlike most bad people, I could change. Cool.

'' Have you begun to notice a change in yourself, by the way?'' she asked curiously.

I was about to shake my head no, when I suddenly realized I _had_.

I'd started feeling guilty about the stuff I'd done, stealing someone's idea, lying to the officials.

I'd realized I was good at something, admittedly something not-so-good, but still something. I'd realized I was independent, I could deal on my own. I'd realized I had a phenomenal memory (forgive the lack of modesty, I'm still proud of it).

I'd made an effort to think of someone other than myself, which lemme tell you, is a big one for me, and made a friend on the way. Mickey.

And best of all, I'd run five whole blocks without giving up entirely! I'd pushed myself until my limits! (okay, so I fainted at the end of it, but that was because I banged my head, not out of exhaustion. I bet I could have made another block before fainting of exhaustion).

All in less than a fortnight. Jeanie was right. In a month, I could have been even better, if you can believe it.

What on earth would I do in six months, though?

'' Actually, yeah,'' I told her abruptly.'' Yes, I have.''

Jeanie's smirk was replaced by a smug expression.

'' What have you done so far?'' she asked absent-mindedly.

'' I'm writing Harry Potter,'' I said without thinking. The change was immediate. Her face fell, and she screamed:

_''_ _What?!''_

'' Uh…'' I said uncertainly. I was alarmed by the sudden change in her. Her eyes had widened, her face had turned dark and furious, and her mouth was open in a snarl not unlike that of a tigress.

'' You silly, greedy, self-centered, ignorant girl!'' she shrieked at me. I was annoyed by being insulted for the second time in an hour with _multiple_ words, once _again_. I mean, I got it the first time, thankyouverymuch. I am a bad person. Fine.

Let's move _on_, as Mickey would say.

Speaking of Mickey, it's a wonder he hasn't been chosen himself. He's got way more potential than I do. And he's worse than me.

I'd tell Jeanie, but I don't really hate Mickey that much. That in-charge-of-the-timeline-genie girl is wicked, I tell you, wicked.

'' You don't understand!'' she was yelling at me. I felt a sudden, angry, rebellious feeling flare up in my stomach.

'' Of course I don't understand!'' I yelled back.'' You haven't told me anything! So calm down, take a deep breath, quit the banshee-act, and tell me what's going on. You stink at your job, by the way!''

Ah, that felt good.

Jeanie visibly quietened down, but she kept glaring at me in revulsion. I glared back.

'' You were supposed to become _good_,'' she moaned.'' You cant abuse the trip this way!''

'' Why not?'' I demanded angrily.'' You never told me not to, did you?''

'' I _said_ it was a faulty trigger, didn't I?''

'' Well, too late for that now.''

She sighed again.'' You don't get it, do you? If you spend your six months doing nothing but this, it'll be a complete waste. Once you go back to your time, it'll be like you were never there. The timeline will not be affected by your stay, neither in your time nor in the time you went to. So if you wrote Harry Potter, you'd end up enjoying the rewards for only the six months you'll be here. When you go back to your time there'll be no record of it ever happening.''

I felt myself wilt from disappointment.

'' So that's it? There's nothing I can do about it?''

She looked uncomfortable.'' Well…''

'' Well? Well what?'' I snapped, eaten up by impatience and frustration.

'' There are two exceptions to this law,'' she said reluctantly.'' One is that you can only enjoy your rewards, and be known as the real writer of Harry Potter, if you stay in the past. As long as you're there, the timeline will be written according to your deeds, and no one will be any the wiser. If you stay in the past, your life will go on as the writer of Harry Potter, and the real you, the one who's a young child in 1996, will grow up to be another person other than yourself, a dopplegänger. There have been recorded incidents of this. In fact, people who find exact twins of themselves in the world are usually those who were chosen and decided to remain in the past. You know that there was never a World War Two, originally? Hitler was chosen by us, and he rewrote the past. Somewhere, sometime, there is another exact copy of Hitler, although he will probably have a different personality. So you see, staying in the past would be a bad idea.''

I think I got most of that. Basically, I can reap the rewards as long as I'm in the past. Got it. No idea what she was talking about for the rest of it.

'' And the other exception?'' I asked.

'' It's not so much an exception as a general rule,'' she said.'' Normally, your stay in the past will not affect anyone you've dealt with, except for someone you've told that you're from a different time, and someone who has travelled in time, or will be chosen, themselves. Those people will remember your existence, and if you choose to change time, as Hitler did, they will remember the original situation. Provided they were there, of course. So, for instance, if you've told someone you've been chosen, they will remember you once you're gone. And if a chosen person was alive, in, say, 1938 and so on, they would have remembered what it was like before Hitler meddled. See?''

I saw. I saw that Jeanie was even worse than my Geometry teacher. I couldn't understand a thing from her.

'' No, I don't see,'' I finally said.

She sighed.'' If you write Harry Potter and stay in the past, only people who have time-travelled themselves will be able to know it was really JK. And if you go back, only whoever you told you were from the future will remember you. Better?''

'' Slightly. So Mickey will remember me, and if someone went back in time and wrote, say, Artemis Fowl, I'd be one of the few who'd remember the original. Got it.''

'' In a nutshell, yes. Wait a second—Mickey? Who's Mickey? Oh, my, don't tell me you've actually been stupid enough to _tell_ someone…''

She tilted her head to one side, and gave a sudden groan. I understood by the echo-y quality of her voice I was being woken up. Whew, just in time.

'' You've been lucky,'' she said sharply as she started to fade in and out of focus.'' I will reprimand you another time.''

'' See ya!'' I said sweetly, waving. I had no intention whatsoever of getting knocked out, or falling into deep sleep, ever again. Next time I saw Jeanie, it would be too soon.

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**Author's Note: REVIEW! Reviewreviewreview!**

**...and if you have any trouble with anything in the story, just ask. What do you think?? =]**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: New chapter! Again, hope y'all enjoy it. One thing though - if anyone seems to think the story is going in a rather unsatisfying direction, fear not. I have an alternate ending written ^^ So enjoy this one, and if you dont like it, you've got another side to the story coming up anyway. REVIEW!**

* * *

**_Chapter Seven:_**

What can I say?

I am always right.

I said, once I started taking breaks, I would be writing much less, didn't I?

Here I was, one month and a half later…

Only partway through Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.

Deep sigh.

I'd finished Chamber of Secrets within reasonable time, but I kept getting lazy every time I attempted to finish the third volume. And once I ended up getting lazy, I inevitably went and had myself a good break. Even Mickey noticed, and he was the one who had used to persuade me to take a break!

The trouble wasn't with the writing. It would be noticably different than the original, because I hadn't read it as often, but still fine.

The problem was with me.

Although I'd avoided situations in which I could possibly black out. Since that disastrous outing, which Mickey had saved us from by dragging unconscious me behind a Dumpster and hiding ( and miraculously it had worked ), we'd been going out in disguises, and I'd been sleeping lightly to avoid Jeanie—

But it changed nothing. I still had several problems.

One was that, given my current rate, I would run out of time before finishing the series.

The second was that I still hadn't had Philosopher's Stone published, and that was the most vital part.

The third was that even if I did, given what Jeanie had told me, what was I going to do? Mickey's advice had been to stay in the past, so I could enjoy my coming royalties.

But I couldn't. I am lazy, and selfish, and the thought of staying all by myself in the past, working around and writing, even if I became rich and famous, just didn't appeal to me. I hated permanent things. I'd always planned on going back eventually.

Life is hard.

But still, I had nothing better to do. I went on writing. I mean, there wasn't much I could do, was there? Plus I had to make some money before I left. Mickey had taken a risk supporting me on the whole thing, and I had to try.

I know, I'm indebted to a little kid half my size. Tell me about it.

_' '' It's OK!'' _

_Professor Lupin had returned to the classroom. He looked shabbier than ever, his old robes hanging more loosely on his frame, and dark shadows beneath his eyes. He had clearly been ill. Nevertheless, he smiled at the class as they took their seats, and they burst into an explosion of complaints about Snape's behaviour when Lupin had been ill._

_'' It's not fair, he was a substitute, why should he give us homework?''_

_'' –we don't know anything about werewolves—''_

_'' Two rolls of parchment!''_

_He frowned briefly.'' Didn't you tell Professor Snape we hadn't covered them yet?'' he asked._

_The babble broke out again._

_'' Yeah, but he said we were really behind—''_

_'' –two rolls of parchment!''_

_'' –he wouldn't listen to us—''_

_'' —_two rolls of parchment_!''_

_Professor Lupin smiled at the expression of indignance on all their faces._

_'' Don't worry about it,'' he said reassuringly.'' I'll have a talk with Professor Snape. You don't have to do that werewolf essay he set you..''_

_'' Oh, no!'' Hermione looked disappointed.'' I've already completed it!''_

And so it went on. A few weeks later, though, Mickey exploded at me when I told him I hadnt yet finished it.

'' What do you mean you haven't finished it?'' he demanded.'' You finished those other two in _days_! You're really getting behind on this, Lara.''

'' I know!'' I burst out.'' But I—this one's just taking longer, that's all.''

Mickey looked mutinous.

'' Lara, you know you've only got six months, and you told me the rest of the books were bigger…''

'' It'll be fine,'' I snapped.'' I just know this one the least.''

'' Then make some stuff up!'' he exclaimed impatiently.'' You don't have to stick to every word. Just because the other two were perfect—as long as you stick to the plot…''

I took a deep breath. I despise it when people tell me what to do.

Particularly if they're right.

'' Look, I'm working on it,'' I snapped defensively.'' It'll be done by tomorrow.''

'' It better be!'' said Mickey sharply.'' We still need to publish that first one, you know. And more than that—you're not getting out of this room until you've finished it.''

'' Excuse me?'' I said incredelously.'' Are you giving me orders, Mickey?''

'' Yes, I am,'' he said stubbornly.'' I'm more qualified to give orders than you.''

This is a very irritating statement. Just because he's smart, doesn't mean he has to rub it in.

'' And how,'' I enquired acidly,'' do you plan on keeping me in here – on your _orders_, haha – when you happen to be barely big enough to reach the doorknob?''

He gave me a sudden, wicked grin, and before I could stop him, pranced out of the room. I lunged for the door, but he'd already slammed it, and I heard the lock click just as I was fumbling at the knob. I groaned loudly. Of course. He'd had the key, the little demon.

Mickey was giggling loudly behind the door.

'' Why you evil little—'' I paused to find a word bad enough for him.''—turnip!''

Okay, so it didn't quite work out. Still, nobody likes turnips, right?

He was now giggling hysterically.'' Turnip? Oh, yeah, that's going to leave a bruise on my ego. Calling me a turnip. Blimey, how will I live?''

I bit back the urge to knock down the door. Not that I actually _could_, but anyway.

'' Anyway, Lazy Lara,'' he said, after taking several deep breaths to calm down.'' I'm not letting you out until you're done. And don't think about lying to me.'' He hiccuped.'' And one last thing—finish it fast. We have more publishers to get to.''

'' If you think forcing me to work is going to motivate me, you're wrong,'' I said coldly.

'' I'm shrugging,'' he said after a pause. I assumed he had shrugged before realizing I couldn't see him. Smart dude.'' Because I couldn't care less. Just get the book done.''

I huffed and stalked to the bed as I heard his light footsteps trot away from my door. If he thought I was going to sit around and write so His IrritatingNess could be happy, he thought wrong.

I wasn't going to write another word, and that was that.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

_' '' What's this?'' he snarled, eyeing the letter in Harry's hand suspiciously.'' If that's another form for me to sign, you've got another—''_

_'' It's not,'' said Harry cheerfully.'' It's a letter from my godfather.''_

_'' Godfather?!'' spluttered Uncle Vernon.'' You haven't got a godfather, boy!''_

_'' Turns out I have!'' said Harry brightly.'' He was my mum and dad's best friend. He was a convicted murder, but he broke out of wizarding prison and he's on the run. He likes to check in every now and then…stay in touch with my news…make sure I'm happy…''_

_And he grinned broadly at the horrified expression on his uncle's face as he set off towards the station exit, Hedwig rattling on the cage in front of him, heading for what looked like a much better summer than the last.'_

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

I groaned loudly. I'd meant to be obstinate and show Mickey up.

Instead, I'd probably just given him yet another reason to gloat for the next four and a half months.

I know!

But the trouble was, once he'd left, I suddenly wanted to write. Even more, I wanted to write _this_ book, and write my own version of it.

So I did. I wrote without a care in the world, changing dialogues and phrases and wording and feeling _good_ about it. This was _my_ version. And it rocked.

It _had_ to rock. It was still the same book, the same plot. Just – a different writer. That was all.

But hey, I'd done it. Now I could start on Goblet of Fire. Which would be perfect, because I knew all the big books back to front. I could tell you anything Ron told Harry at the end of, say, the Yule Ball chapter, and I could tell you the page it was on, and why he'd said it.

_' '' Well,'' he sputtered, looking thunderstruck,'' well – that just proves—completely missed the point—''_

_[ Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, American Version, p. 432, chapter name: The Yule Ball, after Ron and Hermione's quarrel.]_

See? See?

I am so good, seriously. It's a wonder how unappreciated I am. I should be on a throne, with faithful servants all around me, and an unlimited supply of books and wishes.

Instead, I am being bossed around by a nine-year-old with an attitude, slaving away in a hovel of a house to write a big fat volume so I can make ends meet.

And no, I don't think its karma.

And yes, that was very slightly exaggerated.

'' Mickey!'' I yelled, to distract myself from my own thoughts.'' Hey! Tiny!''

I heard the sound of Mickey's door being flung open, then he was at mine.

'' Yeah, Lara?'' he asked excitedly.

'' I'm hungry,'' I said innocently. He let out an angry huff, and muttered something at the door furiously. I grinned; that was the reaction I'd been aiming for. Frustration.

'' You can eat once you're done.''

He sounded like he was sulking. Well, too bad.

'' I _am_ done,'' I said. There was a pause as my words sunk in, then he yelled excitedly.

'' Then why didn't you_ say_ so? All right! I'm letting you out now—''

I narrowed my eyes.'' _Letting_ me out? Letting _me_ out? Letting me _out?_''

'' Yes, I think you have put emphasis on every possible word in the sentence,'' said Mickey in his most bored tone. I waited for the door to open, then smacked him on the head.

'' You will never, ever do that again,'' I said darkly.'' Or you will never see the light of day again.''

'' Yeah, yeah…''

'' Or my iPod.''

'' No! Lara, that's unfair, you _cant_ threaten me with—''

He took one look at my face and decided I _could_, and shut up accordingly. I let out a satisfied sigh.

But I smacked him on the head again when I distinctly heard him mutter,'' But it worked, dinnit?''

He rubbed his head, glaring at me accusingly, as I grinned.

'' Ready for another round with the publishers?''

His glare disappeared and his smile widened.'' Let's go get 'em dodders!''

I laughed. He picked up one of the pens littered all over the floor ( my room resembled the aftermath of a paper and stationary explosion ) and yelled, waving it around madly,'' We're going to get them! _Petrificus Totalus_!''

I couldn't help laughing. He had the spirit of a true Harry Potter fan.

And, for the time being, he was the _first_ Harry Potter fan.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

After our disastrous incident with those obsessive officials, we'd been wearing disguises every time we went out. Mickey enjoyed this immensely, and used the opportunity to dress up in a most ridiculous fashion, if I do say so myself. He did everything from Superman to pirate. Today he chose a 'businessman' outfit.

I pointed out that businessmen did not a) pickpocket, b) carry an empty briefcase just for fun c) wear jeans and a jacket, with a white oxford shirt underneath, d) go to publishers.

But he wasn't listening. I found that children can be amazingly obstinate when it comes to something absolutely idiotic they wont budge on. Sure, he can act like a fifty-year-old mafia boss.

But when it comes down to it, he looks and _is_ a three-year-old most times.

Anyway, my own disguise, a hat and sunglasses, with a Nike Air that had soles so thick I was nearly five-ten in it ( we'd put Mr. Jones' money to good use shopping ), was adequate enough to walk around in. His own would have people gazing after him, wondering if it was Hallowe'en already and panicking about pumpkins.

I assume.

Anyway, Mickey pranced down the street proudly in his bright red jacket and crisp white shirt, brown hear combed neatly to the side – business-man style, he thought – and blue eyes hidden by square, wire-rimmed glasses. Made of plastic, of course. His 'briefcase' was entirely empty apart from a copy of The Philosopher's Stone, and air. Our money was split carefully, half in my pockets, half in his, and we had nothing else. Even if we'd had a mobile, I doubt the briefcase could hold the brick-sized things they had back then—now. Horrific.

We walked to the first publisher of the day ( although it was after noon by now), Rorick Maple's Publishing Company. They advertised children's books exclusively.

We walked in and were asked to wait for mister Rorick Maple. We were used to how companies worked by now, so we'd called in earlier and made an appointment.

We were shown into a classically furnished square office, and then as we sat on the hard wooden chairs ( Mickey made a face at them and I nearly bit my tongue off to stop myself reminding him if he hadn't ruined the whole Hockman thing, we'd be sitting on plush, squeaky leather chairs ), Mr Rorick Maple came in.

He was a hearty man, tall and heavyset, with several extra chins, and bright red hair. His eyes were small, watery and brown. And he was wearing a fantastically ludicrous pinstriped suit.

Here's a helpful little hint: Unless you are aspiring to become a clown, do not _ever_ wear a yellow suit with black and red stripes.

But me and Mickey were now far too exprerienced to comment on it. I hoped.

'' Helloooo young lady!'' he said enthusiastically as he sat down behind the large mahogany desk, folding his large hands neatly in front of him, on a notepad on the desk.

I smiled weakly.'' Er…hello, Mr Maple.''

'' Oh, don't call me that!'' he blustered airily, waving one of his large hands in the air. I watched it as though mesmerized.'' That's my partner's name. I'm Mr Henry Mangini.''

Mickey went into silent convulsions as he heard the name. I kicked him discreetly.

'' Well, Mr – er – Mangini,'' I began.'' I'm here to publish my novel, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.''

He frowned, his round face changing from open to ugly in a moment.'' It doesn't sound like a promising title, Miss…?''

'' Lara,'' I supplied.

'' Ah, yes, Lara. A long title like this might put children off reading it…''

I wished publishers would stop thinking for the children. Because frankly, they were no good at it. And they were certainly no good at predicting success, either. I would know.

''…but we'd have to get our report back. One of my employees is reading the book as we speak, and depending, she will advise me whether or not it is publishable. I do not have anything to do with the editing, or the book, really,'' he spread his arms wide,'' I am but the business angle in this triangle. I publish.''

'' Mmm,'' I said, pretending I understood. Mr Mangini and Jeanie would get along. They were both no good at clarifying things.

'' So, Lara, what's it about?''

I gave him my fantastic speech. Although by now, after repeating it to multiple publishers multiple times, I wasn't really into the fantasticality of it.

He was halfway through some long speech about my speech when a tall, weedy woman came in and handed him a bunch of paper clipped together.

He read it briefly, and gave me an unpleasant smile.

'' I'm sorry, but this report is not encouraging,'' he said without a trace of regret. His manner was suddenly abrupt and careless.'' It says your book is complete nonsense no child could ever enjoy. I'm sorry.''

Mickey's mouth dropped open.

'' I'm a child and I enjoyed it!'' he said, ouraged. This was the first and possibly the last time I'd ever heard Mickey say he was a child.

'' And I happen to know _for sure_ a _lot_ of children will _love_ it,'' I added indignantly.

'' I'm sorry,'' he repeated with as much insincerity as he could fake.'' But that's that.''

'' Why?'' I demanded.

'' Because,'' he said shortly.'' Anyway, thank you for trying, but it appears both of our time has been wasted. Please get out of my office now.''

'' You're a complete, fake, ignorant idiot!'' Mickey burst out. I silently agreed.'' You haven't even given us a chance!''

'' Get out.''

I stood up, sneering at him with as much disdain as I could muster.'' Come along, Mickey.''

Mickey was in no mood to come along.

'' You're no good at your job!'' he was shouting.'' You should resign and become a clown! You've already got the looks for it, anyway!''

Ooh, nice one.

'' That was very rude, young man,'' said Henry Mangini loftily.'' Now out, before I call security.''

'' I'm going,'' snapped Mickey.'' But not before I tell you your name sounds like an Italian recipe, your suit makes you look like a giant beach ball, and _expelliarmus_!''

I didn't have the heart to tell him it was a pointless spell under the circumstances, even if he had been a wizard. He seemed to be enjoying himself too much. He even slammed his 'briefcase' onto the desk to stress his displeasure. Children. Such dramaqueens.

'' Yeah,'' I added at the bemused expression on Mangini's face.'' I curse you. _Avada Kedavra_!''

Mickey gave me a weird glance as the two of us speed-walked away from the office and exited out to the streets.'' Avada Kedavra? You should really read your own books. That's not a real spell.''

I sighed. Another publisher, another disaster.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

We went home, and I got started on Goblet of Fire again. It was so easy to write the pen nearly moved on its own. I was halfway through the Quidditch World Cup when Mickey started singing again. Ten minutes later I let out a gigantic wail as I read what I'd written.

_' It was Quidditch as Harry had never seen it played before. He was pressing his Omnioculars so hard to his glasses they cut into the bridge of his nose. The speed of the players was beyond belief –the Chasers were throwing the Quaffle to each other so fast Bagman barely had time to say their names So so what, he was still a rockstar, I got my rock moves, and I don't neeeeeed you, and guess what, he was having so much fun he could hardly believe himself, and now that we're done, I'm gonna show youuuu…'_

In case you havent noticed that gigantic typo, yes, I'd mixed the words of the song Mickey was singing into my writing. I let out an angry roar and spun on Mickey, who pulled his headphones out and gave me an astonished look.

'' What?''

'' This is what!'' I yelled and shoved the page under his nose. He read it and started giggling.

'' That's really funny!'' he announced, and went off into another round of giggles. I glared at him.

'' It is not! There goes a page of work!''

'' Aw, chill out, Lara…''

'' Don't use my own phrases on me!'' I shrieked. I was so furious – working makes you really touchy, you know that? – I snatched the iPod away, and he groaned '' Not again!'' as I started pushing him out of the room.

'' Out!'' I yelled. He gave me his big eyes/wobbly lip look but I told myself to be strong and kept my expression even.

'' But what am I going to do, all alone?'' he pleaded miserably. I handed him the draft of Prisoner of Azkaban.

'' Here. Knock your eyes out. And when you're done, go get it typed up and photocopied.''

'' You're bossy and mean,'' he sniffled deliberately and started shuffling away.

I shrugged.'' That's what hard work turns out into.''

Whoa. Cant believe I just said that. Hard work. Me. Ha-ha-ha. Mickey gave me a Look and walked away, and I heard him going down the stairs and greeting Martha.

I went back to my writing.

_' '' TROY SCORES!'' roared Bagman….'_

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Three weeks of writing and eating later, I was on the last chapter of Goblet of Fire. I'd been in the past over two months now. I couldn't believe it. Time had really flown when I'd been doing stuff.

Plus lack of school sort of makes you appreciate life.

_' '' How was she doing it?'' demanded Harry at once._

_'' How did you find out?'' said Ron, staring at her._

_She tried to hold back a pleased beam and failed._

_'' Well, it was really you who gave me the idea, Harry,'' she said._

_'' Did I?'' said Harry, perplexed.'' How?''_

_'' Bugging,'' said Hermione happily._

_'' But you said they didn't work—''_

_'' Oh, not _electronic_ bugs,'' said Hermione, quiet satisfaction in her tone.'' No, you see…Rita Skeeter'' –her voice trembled with triumph—'' is an unregistered Animagus. She can turn—''_

_Hermione pulled a small, sealed glass jar out of her bag._

_'' –into a beetle.'' '_

I rubbed my eyes and groaned. Almost there. Writing Voldemort's rebirth had been the stickiest part ( I'd had to take _two_ breaks to finish it ). It had been hard. But I'd remained strong. I'd written it as I'd read it. No matter how much I wanted Harry to die then and there so Voldemort could win—I'd done it.

It's not that I don't like Harry; its just that I like Voldy more. But anyway, the published version had remained true to the original. I was not so weak.

Of course, I'd written a rough draft of Voldemort winning to console myself!

It was a thing of beauty. I smiled broadly as I read it.

_' '' NOW!'' Harry yelled; he didn't think he could have held on for another moment anyway—he pulled his wand upwards with an almighty wrench, and the golden thread broke; the cage of light vanish, the phoenix song died—but the shadowy figures of Voldemort's victim's did not disappear—they were closing in upon Voldemort, shielding Harry from his gaze—_

_And Harry run as he had never run in his life, knocking two stunned Death Eaters aside as he passed—behind him there was a minor explosion as Voldemort managed to break away from the shadows of his victims. He felt a sense of dread he had never felt before as he understood Voldemort would not miss—he zigzagged behind tombstones, so close yet so far, his gaze focused on the Triwizard Cup, only looking from it to glance at Cedric's body._

_Voldemort did not miss. Harry heard him shriek a spell he could not decipher, but suddenly he was lifted into the air, and he realized it was the end. He raised his wand to fight back—he would fight back, no matter the costs, but Voldemort had learned quickly. He disarmed him before he could do anything. Harry spun around slowly in midair, Voldemort's wand lifting him high, as he faced the white, cold face, and looked straight into his red eyes._

_'' You fought well, Potter,'' said Voldemort quietly. Harry heard him clearly; the Death Eaters were silent as death. As his death, in fact._

_'' I did,'' he said, just as quietly. He accepted his fate. Voldemort would triumph. Maybe Dumbledore would be able to stop him._

_But _he_ would not get the chance. It was the end for him._

_'' Yes,'' repeated Voldemort.'' You fought well. But you are a child, Potter, and a child will never defeat Lord Voldemort.''_

_Harry looked him square in the eyes. The graveyard was still, very still. And then the final pause was broken as Voldemort screamed,'' _Avada Kedavra_!''_

_And then a familiar flash of green light—and nothing.'_

I sighed deeply as I read the draft. 'Twas not to be. Harry would get away, Voldemort would burst into tears, and everyone would live happily ever after. My draft would never see the sun.

Such a pity.

But even as I read it, I could sort of tell it wouldn't be too popular. I mean, people always want good to win. It gives them hope.

And with me undergoing a personality transplant these days, I could actually get it. I don't think I'll be so bad after I've completed my final dastardly deed; I would go straight. I'd be a grateful person. I might even make an effort to be nice to Chump—if I resist the lure of fame and fortune and return to my time, that is.

Yeah, right.

I am sort of better though. I mean, is it not enough that I've been _working_ for crying out loud?

I sighed as I tore up my little draft into little bits, then threw it on the floor somewhere. I'd have to clean up this room before I left. It was covered in discarded paper, empty pens and crumpled-up balls of drafts and fast-food wrappers.

You could sort of tell what I'd been doing lately just by admiring the floor.

I straightened out my Goblet of Fire papers, gathering the novel into a neat stack, and put them safely into a file for Mickey to take out for typing and photocopying.

I was getting ready to take myself a good, well-deserved break, when Mickey suddenly slammed on the door, pounding on it so loudly I jumped up and tripped over a pen, and stumbled to the ground with a groan.

When you're fantastically clumsy, even little things like pen and paper can be hazardous to your health.

'' LARA!'' yelled Mickey. Whatever it was sounded urgent. I tried to dispell a certain feeling of foreboding.

'' What is it?'' I demanded nervously as I scarmbled up from the messy floor and bounded towards the door. Am I the only one who noticed I trip in all the potentially dramatic situations? Yes, I do.

'' Hurry, Lara!'' he sounded desperate. I finally opened the door ( I'd taken to locking it to keep him out so I could concentrate on writing ). He looked feverish. His eyes were bright, his cheeks flushed and he was breathing quickly.

'' Mickey, what is it?'' I asked urgently. He shook his head breathlessly. Clearly the magnitude of the problem was too much for him to speak. I pulled him into the room and shook him hard.

'' You wont believe it!'' he squeaked. I couldn't tell whether he was squeaking in horror or excitement—his squeaks all sound the same.

'' WHAT?'' I bellowed, impatient and anxious and apprehensive all together.

He took a long, deep breath and held up an envelope.

I stared at it, unable to comprehend.

'' Lara,'' he squealed at last.'' Lara, we're going to get published!''

I screamed.

* * *

**Author's Note: I'm not going to remind you to review. Okay. i will. Seriously, review! **


	8. Chapter 8

_**Chapter Eight:**_

We got published!

I was privately stunned. I'd been writing for so long, it had seemed to me that there wasn't really an end to it. I'd forgotten that there was an actual chance of succeeding.

It turned out the people who were publishing Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone ( Bux 4 Kidz Inc.) had been one of the publisher's we'd written to at random. They'd received the letter, and the draft, and they loved and sent back an agreement. Mickey had found it waiting for him at the Post Office.

If you're wondering about Blueberry - Burbury - Cadbury - crap, i meant Bloomsbury (aha!) then all I can say is I'm as surprised as you they didn't write back first. I guess it's something to do with circumstances - maybe because we'd published it earlier then the whole chain of events had been changed. Anyway, who cares? We got pu-be-lished! (I know there's no E, dude, I added it in of my own accord. Not that I'm a fantastic speller, but you know what I mean)

One month later, precisely four-and-a-half months into my stay in the past, Mickey and I were salivating in Mr. Jones' bookstore. He hadn't wanted to let us in, but Mickey had given him his special wobbly lip/ big eyes look and he'd relented. Now we stood, staring in awe at the book we'd worked so hard for.

Okay, obviously not as hard as JK Rowling had, but she didn't need to know that.

Actually, _no one_ needed to. I sincerely hoped she'd see the book in stores before she tried publishing her copy. If she'd finished it yet.

I felt really sorry for her though. Having worked really hard myself, I suddenly realized how horrible she would feel. Particularly since if she accused me of stealing it, I'd be the one everyone would support, since not only had I published it first, but I had the next three-and-a-half books to prove it.

Gosh, guilt really does have a negative effect on mental health.

Fortunately, I had Mickey, who seemed completely at ease with the fact that we'd basically stolen someone's book, and was ecstatic to see it being sold. This was sort of insulting; his shock at it actually going through seemed to imply he'd had less faith in me than I'd suspected.

Mickey and I stood staring, mouths open at the shelf. Right there, on the new releases shelf, it was waiting for someone to read it. The publishers had made it a really cool cover, with Harry and Hogwarts and everything. There was even a little summary at the back and everything, just like a real book!

I couldn't believe I'd written a real book. Not just any real book, _Harry Potter_.

I may be a tad dishonest, but I am brilliant, if I do say so myself.

Mr Jones wandered around behind us, muttering about his lumbago. We heard a bell tinkle as a couple of kids walked into the store. Mickey and I looked at each other excitedly and we followed them casually as they wandered around, snapping to attention when they stopped at the new releases shelf.

'' So, Mickey, how'd you like that new book you bought?'' I asked loudly.

Mickey gave a large smile.'' Oh, Harry Potter, you mean? It's brilliant. Loads better than _Borderline_! I cant wait for part two!''

The two kids paused, then one of them reached for the book, giving it a quick look. Mickey and I egged them on in our heads.

Buy buy buy!

'' Looks pretty interesting,'' muttered one boy to the next. My smile widened.

It widened some more when they walked to the cash register with it.

And when Mr Jones sold it to them, it was positively blinding.

Mickey and I exchanged high-fives gleefully. We were so hyper over the whole thing. Me, because I'd accomplished something, for the first time in my life, and Mickey, because we were making more money than he could have pickpocketed in a year.

Yes, you heard that right. We made loads of money. Once we'd set off, it was easy. Everybody loved it. We'd already received several cheques, apart from the initial one, and let me tell you, we were _happy_ about it!

Although we were still staying at Martha's place, since nobody else would accept two children with no adult. Even two surprisingly wealthy children.

Plus we were still writing the fifth one—let me rephrase that. _I_ was still writing Order of the Phoenix. Mickey did nothing to contribute to the actual writing whatsoever.

But you know what? Shockingly, I didn't mind sharing the money one bit. I guess I'm not as selfish as I used to be.

Plus I cant exactly swindle Mickey out of it. He's better with this money stuff than I am.

Although, thanks to recent events that kept me busy, I wasn't able to write as much as usual. It worried me slightly, since I had less time to write three big books than I'd had to write the rest. It would be no good writing Harry Potter if I didn't complete the series, after all.

Mickey was unperturbed about it. He said I was staying in the past anyway if I planned on actually taking the credit for it, and now that we'd made some money, he didn't really care much.

Mickey seem to be blessed with a very lazy conscience ( and _yes_, I'm one to talk now! I'm almost a goody-two-shoes!) and very little worries. He was cool about everything.

This is very irritating to myself, since I panic over everything, if inwardly.

But we all know being irritating is one of Mickey's other blessings, so its no surprise.

We spent nearly the whole day in the store, playing our little scene to make people buy it. There wasn't really anything like watching someone buy your very own book.

Imagine if you'd actually written it from your _own_ imagination!

Mickey did a victory dance as the sun set and Mr Jones started shuffling around to lock up. He told us ( told is a very polite word for the way he snapped at us) to leave and we went out, enjoying the cold air, the crowds, and the success. We had ourselves some food, then headed home. There's nothing like going home to your messy room after a hard day's celebrating.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

We settled down into my room, Mickey enjoying my iPod happily as I started on Order of the Phoenix. It was easy enough to write, since I'd read it even more than Goblet Of Fire, and since there weren't many Voldemort bits I could groan over. I wrote away, finishing quite a large chunk of it – all the way to the Hog's Head chapter – and was in the middle of Ron disliking Zacharias Smith when Martha suddenly knocked on the door.

'' Come in!'' I called. Mickey pulled out the earphones – mercifully stopping singing – and stared as Martha walked in timidly.

The sly expression on her face told me instantly she was here to see if she could make more out of this deal. She'd noticed how Mickey and I seemed to be making more money every day – shockingly, it was true, we were really becoming _something_ here! – and she wanted to see what she could gain out of it.

The trouble was, trying to make more money off people like Mickey and myself is about as easy as getting Grawp to write an essay. We were old hands at this negotiating biz, thanks to our many dear publishers ( whom we'd taken to visiting subtly to rub in our success in their noses. Infantile, I admit, but _so_ satisfying ). To be more precise, we were old hands at making the negotiating biz go _wrong_.

'' Good evenin','' she said pleasantly, her tone mild as ever.'' I just came to check on the two of you.''

Mickey nodded, waving a hand lazily.'' Well, hello, then, Martha.''

She turned pointedly to me.'' And hello, Miss Laura.''

'' Yo,'' I said, equally pleasant.

'' How's everythin' goin'?'' she asked me vaguely.'' I see you've been enjoyin' your rooms.''

She gestured to the mess on the floor. I flushed.

'' W-we'll clean it up later,'' I said hastily.

'' So how's business goin'?'' she asked, not-so-subtly.

'' Horribly,'' said Mickey at once.'' The economy's falling, the rate of inflation increasing, stock market going mad, and to top it all off it looks like George Bush's going to run for the upcoming presidential election in America. Need I say more?''

Ahaha, masterfully done, Mickey.

Martha blanched, then recovered herself.

'' I meant a li'l closer to home,'' she said, giving up the subtle approach completely and heading in for the kill.'' Like, you two look to be makin' yourselves quite a bit o' money.''

'' Does it?'' I said in fake shock.'' Gosh, see how I was right, Michael? How many times d'I tell you looks can be decieving? And now here's living proof. Thanks, Martha, he needed to learn that lesson real bad, y'know.''

Mickey looked appropriately bashful.'' I know now, La – Laura. I'm never going to ignore your advice again.''

'' Good boy,'' I said, and turned to Martha,'' And thank _you_, Martha, for helping him see the light. Good bye!''

Martha looked thoroughly confused.

'' But—'' she said hesitantly.'' You didn't say nought about your money yet!''

'' Our money?'' my mouth dropped open.'' _We've_ got money?''

Mickey's eyes widened and he gave Martha a hopeful look.'' You're giving us money?''

'' Oh, you _angel!''_ I cried, flinging my arms wide open and looking at her in sickening gratitude.'' You're going to give us money and help us along!''

Martha panicked.'' I didn't say anythin' of the sort!''

'' See, Michael,'' I said patiently.'' When you do good, you're rewarded with kind people entering your life to make it a better place. Now you can get little Bob that toy he wanted.''

'' And you can get Grannie Lucy her medicine!'' he added enthusiastically, and it took all my self-control not to burst out laughing.

Martha looked completely unnerved. She tucked a strand of wispy, mousy-brown hair behind her ears and said tremulously,'' Ah—I think I best ought to be goin' now.''

Mickey tutted.'' Horrible grammar, Martha. Dear, dear.''

'' Now, Michael,'' I scolded him as Martha started to back out.'' You shouldn't go around correcting Martha's grammar. She knows it should be, ' I think I best be gone now,' or more correctly,' I think it is best for me to depart for the time.' Don't you think, Martha?''

But Martha had gone out hurriedly and shut the door behind her. I grinned.

'' Nice work, Mick.''

'' I know,'' he sighed.'' I am amazing. It is a wonder I am so unappreciated. I should be put on a throne with the world at my feet.''

Hey! That was _my_ line!

My mood turned sulky immediately, and I scowled at him.

'' The world does not revolve around you alone,'' I snapped and headed back to my desk to write.

'' Well, it definitely should,'' I heard him mutter as he plugged his earphones back in, and promptly started mixing up Beyoncé and Limp Bizkit.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

A week later, when I was well over halfway through Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, things started to happen again, having been relatively quiet after we'd screamed our lungs out about getting published. We were still making quite a bit of money, but nothing was really happening. I had to write into the night out of panic that I'd run out of time, but I was able to stick to the original very closely, fortunately. Have I mentioned how amazing my memory is?

_' '' Maybe…'' said Ron slowly._

_'' Maybe what?'' said Hermione, rather snappishly._

_'' Maybe its not Harry's fault he cant close his mind,'' said Ron darkly._

_'' What do you mean?'' said Hermione._

_'' Well, maybe Snape isnt really trying to help Harry…''_

_Harry and Hermione stared at him. Ron looked meaningfully and darkly from one to the other. ' _

I rubbed my aching wrists and was reminded of my hunger by a very ominous growling from my stomach. Mickey pranced into the room, dancing up and down with glee on his face.

'' Yeah?'' I asked wearily.

'' We got out first review!'' he yelled.

I promptly fell off the bed, then whooped from the floor.'' Yay!''

I jumped back up and snatched it the newspaper he was holding to read it, my insides full of butterflies. It was _The Glasgow Herald_. I had no idea where he'd got it from, but I read the review frantically.

_' I've yet to find_ [ it read ] _a child who can put it down. Magic stuff.'_

I shrieked happily.'' It's a good review! Hats off to us and JK Rowling!''

He continued dancing around the room happily.

'' I think we should celebrate with a good meal,'' I added wisely. He stopped dancing instantly.

'' Yes!''

We did. We went out of McDonald's ( believe it or not, that was our second course. We'd already invaded a restaurant ) a few hours later, completely full with big smiles on our faces.

It was only when we'd walked a block that it hit me we'd forgotten our disguises. Our disastrous little incident had been very similar to this, we'd been exiting the fast food place when—

'' Well, well, well, if it isnt good ole Lucy-Ann…''

Oh, the irony. We'd made the same mistake. _Again_. I squeaked, half-shocked, and turned around to gaze into Suit's bloodshot eyes. He'd changed his suit ( I bet they had a party over that one at home ) but he wore the same expression he usually wore when he saw me.

Manic fury.

I really don't know what I did to this guy. It's him, not me.

'' Tell me, Mister-Official-In-A-Suit,'' I said, swallowing hard, my voice trembling very slightly ( Mickey said it was trembling like a ninety-year-old lady's. That is not true ).'' Is—would this happen to be a situation warranting a good scream and rapid running?''

He gave me a bloodthirsty, happy smile not unlike that of a wolf who has finally caught his prey.'' I believe it is. My colleagues happen to be unavailable to tell me to go easy on you.''

'' What I want to know is,'' I said nervously,'' what I ever did to you?''

His ugly eyes widened in shock.'' You honestly don't know? You are the most exasperating, frustrating, irritating little girl I have ever met. You nearly cost me my job. You played us all like fools and lied to us through your teeth. You are infuriating.''

'' Yeah, well,'' I mumbled.'' I'm working on that. And don't call me a little girl.''

And then I let out a good scream and Mickey and I were sprinting through crowded London streets yet again. Personally, I find being chased by a madman – figuratively – in crowded streets very action movie-esque, and personally, I prefer it _in_ the movie. When you experience it in reality, it actually gets pretty boring.

Not to mention exhausting. I mean, what _is_ it with running? I am no good at it, yet I inevitably find myself doing it at least once a month. Something really had to be done about that.

We ran all the way back to the alley behind Mr Jones' bookstore. Mickey scrabbled at the door and we burst into his store, panting. Mr Jones frowned.

'' Been running, have you?'' he said severely, then looked grumpy.'' I could run once. Before a little thing called old age settled in, and I got every disease known to man to prevent me from running.''

'' Hide – us!'' I squeaked between pants.

He sighed.'' There's a cupboard over there.''

We ran over to it. I slid on the floor, predictably, and fell rather painfully before landing right in front of the cupboard door. Panicking tends to increase my clumsiness.

Mickey flung the door of the little cupboard open and leaped into it, pressing his tiny little frame against the wooden walls of the small space. I struggled to get up, then followed him, gasping when I heard the door tinkle and Suit arrive in the store, blustering.

'' Where are they?'' I heard him shriek as I motioned for Mickey to shut the door. He leaned over to close it. I suddenly noticed my jacket hem was sticking out, and gestured frantically for him to stop closing, leaning forward to tug it out of the way—but he'd already started swinging it shut, and it banged right into my head. Ow.

And I blacked out _again_, thinking: _I really hope I don't meet_—

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

'' Hello, Jeanie,'' I said wearily as the blue girl gave me a look that told me she was not happy. She was generally not happy when she looked at me, but the look she gave me told me she was even _more_ not happy than usual. I swallowed and looked around at my familiar old garden to distract myself. I received a little jolt as I realized how much I'd missed it.

I really _was_ changing. I'd gotten _homesick_!

Shocking.

Jeanie's glare intensified as she spoke.'' _Someone's_ been extra-careful not to come pay me a visit lately.''

'' Really?'' I said with interest.'' And who would that be?''

'' Lara!'' she positively spat.'' You've been avoiding us, and you know it—''

'' Us?'' I said innocently.'' It's only _you_.''

'' I'm a representative of _we_ in charge of the timeline,'' she snapped impatiently.

'' Oh, that, right,'' I said with a sigh.

'' We've been trying to contact you for a while now,'' she continued irritably.'' You've been sleeping lightly, haven't you? And shockingly enough, you've even avoided fainting as well.''

'' Yeah, well, I've been playing it safe,'' I muttered, insulted.

'' Well, that was very irresponsible on your part,'' she said sharply.

'' Sorry!'' I snapped.

'' I spoke to the rest of we in charge of the timeline,'' she went on.'' After I told them what you'd been doing, they agreed to triple their efforts to fix your trigger.''

'' The stick?'' my blood went cold.'' But—but the six months aren't up yet!''

'' We had to hurry,'' she said coldly.'' You've been a great disappointment to all of us. We had to get you back to your own time before you further damaged our reputation. Instead of becoming a better person, you've become even greedier. We cannot let it be.''

I set my jaw, unable to believe all my effort was to be wasted. I didn't want to believe all my effort had been wasted. I'd gotten a review! I'd written nearly five novels!

Jeanie turned around and picked up something from the ground. When she faced me again, I saw that familiar old stupid stick. My blood went even colder.

'' Your time is up.''

As she spoke, I felt the wind pick up, and then I cried out as two enormous holes opened on either side of me, just like those sci-fi movies. The only difference here was that I knew I was dreaming.

One hole, the one on the right, was an opening back to Limbo. I saw the jagged rainbows and bright colours floating and splattering in the distance. My passage home.

The other was a view of my room in Martha's house. I saw the familiar rose-patterned wallpaper, the pens and paper strewn all over the floor. My residence in the past.

'' Because we cannot ignore our rules, you have the choice,'' said Jeanie quietly.'' You can choose to go back home, where everything will go back to normal, and you can continue your pathetic existence, having failed to take your last chance, the one we offered.

'' Or you can choose to go back to the lies and schemes you achieved in the past, where history will be rewritten according to your dishonest deeds. You will be the renowned author of the brilliant Harry Potter, and you will gain all the fame and fortune you could wish for. Choose now.''

'' I need more time,'' I said desperately.

'' You have no more time. If you touch the stick, you will be instantly transported home. You need to touch it for a safe passage in Limbo. To go back, you simply step into the window on your left.''

'' If I choose to stay in the past, can I ever come home again?''

'' No. The choice is permanent. You will never see us nor the stick again. Without it you would be helpless, unable to travel.''

'' But if I have the stick with me—''

'' You will not.''

I swallowed again. I hated this. I had no time to think, no time to think up a plan.

'' What about Mickey?'' I said worriedly.'' He knows where I came from. Will he still have the money?''

'' Your entire stay will be completely erased. All he will have is memories of you.''

'' But my work—''

'' You chose to work as a cheater. You work will be wasted.''

My face twisted and suddenly I felt my laziness disappear as anger boiled in my stomach. This wasn't fair. I'd worked too hard for this. I'd made myself better, I'd written for hours at an end…I couldn't – _wouldn't_ waste it all.

Jeanie's words echoed in my head, and suddenly a mad, insane plan formed in my mind. I glared at her, speaking slowly.

'' I'm sorry.''

'' You should be!'' she snarled.'' You wasted the best opportunity you would ever get to become a better person. You are useless!''

I shook my head.'' I am _not_. Not anymore.''

And then I ran forward and kicked her hard in the shin.

She shrieked, and fell backwards; her head slammed against the metal bin and her eyelids fluttered as she groaned ( having hit my head frequently, I felt for her ). I wasted no time. I pulled off my jacket, the same one that had made me end up here, and used it to pick up the stick, wrapping it securely in the material, making sure it didn't come near my skin.

Jeanie groaned again, then she gasped as she opened her eyes and saw me walking away.

'' What are you doing?'' she screamed, struggling to get up.

I walked to the hole I wanted and looked at her calmly.'' You were wrong. I have a third choice.''

Her face twisted.'' I am not wrong! You are cheating again, girl. You cant have everything you _want_!''

I shrugged.'' I think I just _did_. And you were wrong about me. I'm not a bad person. I'm just doing the best I can.''

'' The _worst_ you can, you mean!'' she screeched, her shape shimmering as she tried to get up. She was right; shape shifting does make humans nauseous. I looked away.

'' You should have chosen a stronger shape,'' I said.'' Buh-bye, Jeanie.''

And then I stepped into the hole to go back to the past, and looked back one last time. Jeanie's face was furious, disgusted. For some reason, it hurt me. The holes closed and then everything disappeared.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

When I opened my eyes, I was back in the cupboard of Mr Jones' store. Mickey was next to me. My head hurt.

'' Sorry about that,'' he said apologetically and I realized he meant the bump on my head. Well, it _was_ his fault.'' But I had to close it before that official bloke saw us. He's gone now. Are you okay?''

I wasn't sure if I was. I shrugged.

'' Hey, where'd that come from?'' he asked suddenly and I looked down and saw myself clutching a stick poking out of the bundle of jacket it was wrapped in.

'' It's a long story,'' I said at last.

* * *

**Author's Note: Dun dun dun DUN! Lara beat Jeanie up! Anyway, just a small reminder to review. i know this chapter probably wasnt as funny, but there is actually some action *cough* in it, so i felt that any more of Lara's exasperating rants would make it too much. The next one, however, should at least make you grin. But anyway! REVIEW!!! **


	9. Chapter 9

_**Chapter Nine:**_

What had I done?

My brain was aching as we went back home. My head hurt, my conscience hurt, and my feelings were in positive agony. I couldn't quite absorb what Jeanie had said. About me.

Maybe it was hearing such horrible things about myself that had made me kick her and steal the trigger. Or maybe she was right, and I was simply a bad person who wanted to have everything, no matter what it took to get it.

Either way, it didn't feel so good. No surprises there.

It was late night by the time we were back home, and I had already finished telling Mickey what had happened.

I thought he, of all dishonest people, would appreciate my stunt.

He didn't.

'' I don't understand,'' he said slowly, looking at the ceiling.'' Why did you do that?''

I swallowed hard. I didn't feel so good. I'd practically declared war on _those in charge of the timeline_, stolen time, and someone else's book. The least I should have had was my partner-in-crime's support.'' What do you mean?''

'' Why did you take the stick?'' he refused to meet my gaze, and his voice and pose seemed forbidding and stubborn.

Intimidated by a nine-year-old. I'd sunk so low.

'' What—why did I take the stick…?'' I repeated, unable to see where he was going.

'' Yes!'' he finally turned to face me and his expression was flushed and angry.'' Why did you take the stick? You had two choices. Stay here and really write the book, or go home and go back to your stupid life. What kind of choice did you make this way?''

'' That's the whole point!'' I said unhappily.'' I chose this so I wouldn't have to make the choice. So I could go home when I wanted to!''

Mickey's cheeks flushed an even brighter red.'' And the whole world is just supposed to hang on what _you_ want? Did you think of me, with my life's money in your hands? Your parents? The lady who really wrote the book?''

I wanted to scream. So I did.

'' OKAY ALREADY!'' I shrieked.'' I'm _selfish_ and _cruel_ and _uncaring_! FINE! If you _want_ me to go _back_, I'll just _take_ the stupid stick NOW!''

I couldn't stand it any longer. People always telling me I was good for nothing, selfish, greedy. I wasn't. I really wasn't. I cared about things other than myself, and I knew I wasn't good for nothing. Why couldn't anyone _see_ that?

Feeling hot and miserable and reckless, I gave Mickey a furious glare and lunged for the bundle that was my stick-in-a-jacket, intending to grab the stick and go home then and there.

But Mickey was quicker than I was (I'm not very quick even in the most dramatic of times). He darted forward and snatched the stick out of the jacket, then backed away. He hadn't been 'chosen' to go back by Jeanie and her gang, so nothing happened to him. I stopped, my hand stretched out in mid-air comically.

'' I don't want you to go _back_,'' he mumbled miserably.'' You misunderstood me. I wanted—I thought, if you'd chosen to stay…you'd be back for good.''

I pulled my hand back slowly, staring at him.

'' You want me to stay?'' I asked hesitantly.

'' Yes!'' he said, scowling at my right knee, which he seemed to be talking to.'' I did—I _do_. You're the only friend I ever had, I think. I wanted you to—I thought you'd stay, once you decided to. But then you went and cheated again, and now I'm going to be waiting for your mood to change and you'll suddenly decide to go back, and I'll be left here with no money, and no Harry Potter, and nothing but what I can remember.''

I swallowed again, feeling horribly guilty. I suddenly thought of what Jeanie had said, and I realized she was right, I'd deserved every rude remark she'd made, and now I was completely lost. I had no idea what to do. I could go on, make Mickey happy, steal the book and stay here forever. Or I could do what was right and go back home.

But, the trouble was, I wasn't quite transformed enough to go back home. Doing what was right—giving up everything I'd worked for, was just not tempting enough for someone only halfway to becoming a good person. I still had books to sell, rewards to reap…

'' Can I just stay?'' I asked Mickey at last, as humbly as I could.'' Stay until I make up my mind? I'm sorry about what I'm doing to you, Mickey, but some things I really need to think through.''

Mickey nodded ungraciously.'' I guess.''

But I noticed his expression, disappointed and lonely, as he left, and suddenly I felt guiltier than I ever had.

This was a decision that needed to be made, soon.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Guilt. It's so _bad_, guilt. Like ice and fire and insects all jumbled up in your intestines at the same time.

Horrible.

I couldn't stand staying in Martha's little hovel after that. I had to clear my mind.

So I took a walk.

This was an enormous breakthrough for me, by the way. Doing any form of exercise to clear my mind was unprecedented. Walking to think. Amazing.

It was a very long walk, too. I had a hat on to keep any nosy officials recognizing me, so I walked along undisturbed, for over an hour, until I suddenly found myself outside Mr Jones' bookstore. And weird thoughts went through my head.

Like how happy I'd been when the book was published.

Someone saying something about JK Rowling, from ' Welfare to Billionaire.'

Mickey saying,' Welcome aboard the H.M.S. Life O' Crime.'

My mother, shaking her head at me disapprovingly.

Welfare. Billionaire.

Chump, grinning gleefully at me.

Jeanie calling me 'useless'.

I missed my family. I missed whining all by myself with nobody to scold me when I did. I missed feeling like I couldn't mount to anything because I was no good at anything. I missed having an excuse to feel sorry for myself for having no friends. I missed being able to read Harry Potter without a pang of guilt hitting me in the gut. I missed having my iPod to myself, missed technology that didn't look clumsy and hi-def TV. Missed not having to worry about earning money and writing huge books and dealing with a nine-year-old undersized urchin.

The really bad thing was, I knew I'd miss _not_ having these things more when I went home.

I stared at Mr Jones' store absently, and suddenly, I knew what to do.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

'' Lucy-Ann?''

There isn't a word to describe the shock in Frizzy's voice. Perhaps striding into the shelter like that had been a bad idea.

'' Er, hi!'' I said cheerfully.

'' Lucy-Ann?'' repeated Frizzy, completely stunned at my arrival.

'' Yeah, it's me,'' I said brightly.'' Hello!''

'' Lucy—''

'' _Yes, its Lucy-Ann_!'' snapped Mickey impatiently. I'd brought him along.

Frizzy blinked and looked for the source of the squeaky voice. I grinned uneasily.

'' Uh, he's right here,'' I explained, yanking him upwards by the collar so she could see him. He was so short he'd been hidden under the desk in her office.

'' Oh, don't tell me you couldn't see me!'' fumed Mickey bitterly.'' That's just exaggeration, that is. I'm not that small!''

'' You keep telling yourself that, Tiny,'' I said bracingly and Frizzy had the grace to look apologetic.

'' I'm sorry, precious,'' she told him.'' But you really are a tad shorter than my desk. I'm sure you'll grow big and tall later on though, don't you worry. You're really quite an average height for a five-year-old, aren't you?''

Mickey's eyes widened and he started hyperventilating in indignation.

'' Er—he's nine,'' I said hastily before he could explode. Frizzy looked mortified.

'' Oh, preci—''

'' It's fine,'' he said in a strained sort of voice.'' I'm fine. I just…haven't hit my growth spurt yet, that's all.''

I snorted. It must've sounded louder than I'd meant it to be because he glared at me.

'' Anyway, Lucy-Ann, back to business,'' said Frizzy quickly.'' You were here because…?''

'' I wanted to apologize to you and the officials,'' I said, changing tack as I remembered.'' You know? The three guys? Because I cant go out with someone chasing me on the street every time, and I really should apologize for my behaviour.''

Mickey grinned.

Frizzy looked thoughtful, but she nodded and pressed an intercom button on her desk.

'' You're lucky they're close by, you know,'' she said.

I groaned. I'd been hoping I'd conveniently 'miss' them.

Ten minutes later Plain Clothes, Suit and Uniform walked into the office where we'd first met. All three of them stared at me as though I was a ghost as they sat down.

I still have no idea what their whole problem is. But I'd clear it up even if it meant having to lie through my teeth…again.

'' Hello!'' I began as brightly as I possibly could with three large officials looking at me with murder in their eyes.

'' What…do…you…want?'' snarled Suit before the other two could get a word in.

'' I'm here to apologize,'' I said firmly. Suit burst into mirthless laughter that had me glaring at him.'' And _that_ wont help the theraputical process of forgiving and forgetting, you know?''

Suit stopped laughing and gave me his trademark ugly look.

'' And why should we forgive and forget?''

I sighed.'' Because _you_ are going to end up bursting a blood vessel like this.''

'' Suddenly all worried about my health, are we?'' he grunted furiously.

I scowled.'' Look, dude, if you're going to be childish about this then I'm sorry I tried at all. We're all going to act like adults now and straighten this out.''

'' Yeah, ri—''

'' You need to quit your immature attitude,'' I went on.'' And hear me out.''

'' Listen, little g—''

'' Now, mate,'' said Plain Clothes, smirking.'' You need to be _mature_ about this.''

Clearly, his colleagues enjoyed needling him as much as I did.

'' I want to get this behind us,'' I added,'' so I'm going to say this now. I'm sorry for the way I treated you. You were only doing your jobs.''

The three men stopped moving abruptly and stared, open-mouthed at me. Whatever they had expected, this was not it.

'' Yes,'' I plowed on ruthlessly. Now that I was on my goody-goody bandwagon, I wanted to do this right.'' I am absolutely sorry. Terribly sorry.''

A glop of drool gathered at the corner of Plain Clothes' open mouth.

'' Meh,'' he croaked. I immediately added that to _Oh, Huh_, _Er_ and _Ah_ joyfully.

'' I think you apologized sufficiently,'' Mickey put in.'' They got it. Shall we?''

Oh, right. I remembered I had to go before they absorbed the fact that I was still a runaway under questioning. They had been so stunned by my apology they seemed to have forgotten their very existence.

And so, Mickey and I gracefully took our leave, running out of the shelter yet again, before they could realize what was going on.

As for myself, I was perfectly satisfied. One down, a couple to go.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

'' Mickey,'' I said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed.'' It is time.''

Mickey looked at me tearfully.'' Do we have to?''

I nodded.'' No matter what happens, I need to prove Jeanie wrong. And to do that I have to believe I have a conscience, and treat everything as I should.''

Mickey's face crumpled.'' But the torture!''

'' I know, Mickey,'' I said with a deep sigh.'' I know.''

And then the two of us pulled back our sleeves, took deep breaths, and began to clean up the hideous mess that was my room.

It was tedious work. Harry Potter is a messy job that leaves carcasses of drafts everywhere. We cleaned, we gathered, we washed, we tossed. We even swept and mopped and organized. I made the bed; Mickey cleared up countless crumpled papers, several of which were torn-up remains of Harry's death. I cleaned up the bathroom delicately; Mickey picked up the various empty pens strewn over the floor that had tripped me up countless times. I threw out the garbage; Mickey—sat around pretending he was a wizard with the pens as his wands.

I yelled at him for a few minutes – he tried to ' Avada Kedavra' me, but it didn't work, unsurprisingly, now that he'd read Goblet of Fire – until he went back to cleaning.

Finally, several hours' worth of hard work later, the room was spotless for the first time in nearly five months. The four books I'd written so far were stacked neatly on the shelf, my iPod on the table charging, and the bed was made, the wallpaper free of ketchup stains.

Mickey and I eyed our handiwork proudly.

And then my eyes fell on Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, still only half-written, waiting to be completed, and my stomach gave a now-familiar, unpleasant, lurch.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

I went out alone again the next day, taking the same long walk I'd taken the day before. I ended up right outside Mr Jones' bookshop, people going in and out busily on the fine, foggy morning. More than one came out with a copy of Harry Potter, I was pleased and uncomfortable to see.

'' Mr Jones?'' I called as I went in through the front door. The grumpy little old man hobbled out from behind his shelves to glare at me.

'' Yes, Lala, or whatever your name is?'' he said, snappishly.

I felt scandalised. Lala?! _Lala? What?_ I was about to explode, and remind him forcefully that I was no song he hummed, but I reminded myself to be nice.

'' It's Lara. With an R.''

'' Like I care how you spell your name. Honestly,'' he grumbled, and I felt a sudden jolt. I'd thought those very same words once. Mickey had been right. That was exactly how I'd seemed—like a grumpy, little old man.

I felt increasingly horrified at myself. A bad-tempered little old man. Whatever next? How low can you go?

'' Mr Jones,'' I said at last, my voice hoarse.'' I'm here to – make up – for something I did. Well, not me, but I didn't stop it—''

'' What do you want, girl?'' he said suspiciously.

I pushed my hands into my pockets and came out with several hundred pound notes, curtesy of my stolen book's earnings.

'' This,'' I said, my throat dry. Giving away money. Who'd have thought?

'' What is the meaning of this?'' he said sharply, looking at the money in my hand as though it were dangerous.

'' Please, sir,'' I said politely, something I haven't had much practice at.'' Please take this. It's yours. Mickey stole it from you about four months ago, and I wanted to return it.''

Mr Jones' alarming expression suddenly softened, to my relief.'' Ah, I see.''

I waited, but he didn't take the money.

'' It's no matter,'' he said quietly.'' I knew he'd taken it, m'girl. Don't you worry about it.''

I stared at him, surprised.'' You knew?''

He shrugged.'' Of course I did. All along. But I've known Mickey a long time, and he's a good little lad. He never took it if he didn't need it and I'd never take away from him. He needed all the help he could get 'fore he met you, and the two of you published that book of yours.''

I was still staring.

'' Speaking of which,'' he continued.'' That book of yours is pretty good for my business! People buying it all day. I'll call it even then, between your book and my money.''

I smiled weakly, still fairly stunned, and walked back out the door after he'd hobbled away, groaning about some disease or other, and I stuffed the money back into my pockets.

And suddenly, being compared to that grumpy old man didn't seem like such a bad thing after all.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

And then there was only one thing left to do.

'' I'm sorry, Mickey,'' I said softly.'' But you know it has to be done.''

Mickey's lower lip trembled. We were sitting outside Mr Jones' bookstore in our dirty little old alley, because goodbyes in Martha's horrible house, however grateful I was to it, just didn't seem right. I'd asked him to meet me there after my conversation with Mr Jones, which still had me faintly reeling.

I stood uncomfortably in the dusty alley, my hands stuffed in my pockets. Mickey looked so miserable I couldn't quite bring myself to just let go and leave.

'' You don't really have to go, you know,'' he mumbled, looking at my knees pointedly the way he usually did when he felt unhappy. I sighed.

'' I know,'' I said quietly.'' But I cant stay. I have to prove everyone wrong, everyone who thought I would take the easy way out. Jeanie. I cant stay here and let my guilt eat me up while I sit around enjoying someone else's hard work, you know. I guess—I never thought it would feel this bad.''

Mickey looked mutinous.'' You know, when I became your partner in _crime_, Lara, I thought you'd be up to crime. Not do it and feel guilty just when we start to enjoy our rewards.''

I sighed again.'' I know, Mickey, I know. I wish I could've done it. I really do. Guess I just wasn't as conscience-less as I thought I'd be.''

'' If I get chosen,'' said Mickey sulkily.'' I wouldn't wimp out and stop. I'd steal someone's book and do it properly. If I get chosen I'd go all the way through.''

'' I'm sorry,'' I repeated. There wasn't much else I could say.

Mickey looked up at the sky.'' Well, guess this is it.''

I smiled suddenly.'' Wait!''

He paused and looked at me fully for the first time since we'd arrived. I kept grinning and pulled out—my iPod.

'' I want you to have this,'' I said with a huge smile.

Mickey's mouth dropped open and he took is hesitantly, holding it as though it was made of glass.

'' Really?''

'' Yeah!'' I said generously.'' Sure, take it.''

Mickey gave me an awed look, tinged with suspicion.'' You'd give me this? It's your most prized possession…''

I kept smiling and then he suddenly started.

'' Lara,'' he groaned.'' You forgot. All traces of you will be erased. I wont keep it.''

'' I know,'' I said brightly and he glared at me.'' What, you actually thought I'd _give_ it to you? I havent gotten _that_ unselfish yet, Itty.''

He scowled at me as I burst out laughing.

'' No' nice,'' he snapped and continued sulking. I stopped laughing and turned serious.

'' Mickey, you need to listen to me,'' I said, genuinely worried.'' I want you to stop stealing. Really.''

He looked at me incredelously.'' What on earth, Lara? Just because you've gone and saintified yourself—''

'' I haven't 'saintified' myself,'' I snapped back at him.'' I've been trying to talk to you about this for a while. I want you to get a job at Mr Jones' store, help him out, so he can help _you_ out.''

Mickey looked at me worriedly.'' Lara, are you _sure_ the genie didn't do something to you?''

'' I'm serious!'' I yelled.

'' Oh, God,'' said Mickey in shock.'' You've been schizophrenic the whole time and I didn't know it.''

'' I'm not schizo!'' I shouted in exasperation. Actually, I wasn't too sure about that, but I was also sure I'd wanted to help Mickey out for a long time. And where on _earth_ did he learn that word?!

'' Then what are you talking about?'' he said numbly.'' Me and Mr Jones? That guy is mad, Lara, mad, I tell you! Did you hear him say he had heartburn and a stroke all at the same time? He thinks he's dying of terminal cancer every day. I'd go mad if I tried working with him.''

'' You don't understand,'' I said patiently.'' That old man really cares about you, Mickey. He'd take care of you if you needed anything, and you could help him with his shop. Please, please, please, Mickey.''

'' Wow, triple pleases,'' he said faintly.'' You _must_ be serious.''

I sighed yet again.'' That's all the advice I can give you, Mickey.''

'' So this is it?'' he said again, and then focused his gaze at a spot beyond my right shoulder so he wouldn't look me in the eye.

'' Yep,'' I said, trying to sound as nonchalant as I could.

'' You're leaving? Going back?''

'' Yep.''

'' To your obscure life, knowing you could have been the author of Harry Potter, richer than the Queen, more famous than Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?''

'' Yep.''

'' Destined never to be in the Guiness Book of Records?''

'' Yep.''

'' Even after you fixed everything you've done here for no good reason?''

'' You know I apologized to prove Jeanie wrong. You know I gave the money back because it wasn't right.''

'' I do know. I was just trying to make you stop saying 'yep'.''

I rolled my eyes at him. My throat felt unusually tight, as though I might actually regret leaving Mickey behind. Maybe I was just dehydrated.

My stomach was giving me strange pangs as well. Must be malnutrition. I couldn't possibly miss _Mickey_. He was the most irritating person on earth after me, for crying out loud.

'' You know, Mickey,'' I blurted out before I could clap a hand over my mouth.'' You're the only friend I ever made, actually.''

Mickey's eyes opened wide.'' Really?''

I nodded mutely, unable to believe I'd just admitted that.

'' That's so…'' he paused, looking awkward.''…pathetic.''

I sighed one more time and he grinned at me.

'' It's time,'' I said quietly as a clock somewhere chimed noon. Maybe it was Big Ben. I could hardly believe I'd been to London, let alone written Harry Potter.

Speaking of which.

'' There's something I have to do first!'' I cried hastily and rushed over to the backdoor of the bookstore, flinging it open. Mickey followed me curiously, utterly nonplussed.

I nearly threw Mr Jones aside as I reached the new releases shelf and snatched the copy of my Harry Potter desperately. I gazed at my name at the cover, awed that I was really about to give it away. I couldn't. I'd worked so hard. _Harry Potter_. I was going to give up the authorship of _Harry Potter?!_

Mickey stared at me as I hugged the book, almost sobbing at what I was about to give away.

'' HARRY POTTER!'' I wailed.'' I WROTE _HARRY POTTER_ AND I'M ABOUT TO GIVE IT ALL UP!''

Mr Jones retreated hastily to one of the farther shelves, muttering something about his eardrum and preserving it. I was too busy moaning to notice. Mickey was still staring at me, trying not to laugh.

I looked at the book wistfully.'' Give it up. Harry Potter. Me. Lara, me. I could have been the one writing it. The one who took all the credit. Me. Give it up.''

'' You could just stay,'' said Mickey with a surprisingly sensible tone as my gaze swivelled between the book, well on its way to becoming a premature bestseller, and the stick, wrapped in my jacket even now, next to me.

'' I could,'' I whispered desperately.'' I _could_ stay. Never mind the plan. Who cares about stupid guilt? I wrote Harry _Potter_! I have _no_ limits!''

'' Except your own silly conscience,'' Mickey put in helpfully. I glared at him as I clutched the book closer, murmuring,'' _Harry Potter_…''

'' I'll stay!'' I said, breathing hard, nodding maniacally.'' I'll stay. Stay with my precious, _precious_ book!''

Mickey's eyes widened.'' Hey, you sound like the Tolkein book! Gollum!''

I glared at him again, then realized he was right. I couldn't help it. It _was_ my precious. My precious, precious version of Harry Potter. The miracle nobody could ever discover. I could do it. I could live with my guilt. I could give my life up and hang on to my precious book.

'' I _could_ stay, couldn't I?'' I breathed greedily, looking at _my_ book, Harry Potter, with _my_ name where JK's should be, with obsessive longing. Mickey eyed me warily.

'' You have to choose, Lara,'' he reminded me, and suddenly the choice seemed shockingly easy.

'' I'll stay!'' I declared forcefully, looking down at my precious book to strengthen my resolve.'' I'll stay. I can do it. I can stay. Stay with my Harry Potter. Keep it. Yeah.''

I stared to get up, still holding Harry Potter tightly. Mickey grinned at me, looking greatly amused and not in the least convinced, though I was deadly serious. I couldn't give it up. Just looking at that book on the shelf had been enough to change my mind. _Harry Potter_! I'd be a fool to give it up!

And then as I got up, disaster struck, as it always did. I tripped over my bundle of a jacket, and slipped, crashing back to the ground, where my book tumbled out of my hands. I fumbled for it wildly, struggling to get up and my finger tugged at my jacket in my frantic scramble. It fell open very slightly, but it was enough to let the stick roll out of it, and then as I grabbed at the book to get up again, I touched it.

I gasped and looked up at Mickey for the briefest moment. He shrugged at me, and I shrugged back regretfully.

'' Bye,'' I managed to say before there was this bright, bright glow, and I disappeared for the second and last time in my life.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Blinding white.

The trip in Limbo had been very short. I'd barely had time to panic.

And then, suddenly, I was opening my eyes to whiteness everywhere, everything white as bone. White as snow.

What was going on?

I tried to sit up feebly, realizing I was lying down, but I felt unusually weak and exhausted, as though I'd been running more than five whole minutes.

My eyes narrowed as things started to come into focus, shapes suddenly emerging from the bright whiteness.

The first thing I saw was my mother. Her face was white, too, as though she'd been very worried. She gasped when she saw me looking at her, and her face lit up.

'' She's awake!'' she cried, and I was surprised at how strained her voice was.

And then I made out the other shapes next to me, Chump and my dad and a—nurse?

A nurse?

I was in the hospital.

I choked soundlessly, panicking as everything burst into my brain, feeling confused and disconcerted. What had happened? Wasn't I supposed to come back in my garden?

'' Ma?'' I said weakly. My mother came closer, and I saw that all that white had been simply bedspreads and sheets. How stupid of me.

'' Oh, Lara, sweetheart!'' she said anxiously.'' I've been so worried. Are you okay?''

'' I'm fine,'' I said quickly.'' I'm all right, really. I'm just wondering—what happened?''

'' You've been unconscious for about four days now,'' she said reluctantly, looking at me searchingly, as though something was wrong.

'' Un…'' my voice cracked.'' Unconscious?''

Chump suddenly spoke up.'' Yeah. You got knocked out—at my football game, remember? You got hit by a can and you blacked out. Doctors said you got a mild concussion.''

I swallowed. Swallowed hard.

I wanted to cry. I couldn't believe what was going on. I'd been dreaming the whole time. Everything that had happened had been a dream. Me becoming better, Mickey, writing Harry Potter. It had all been one, big, bump-induced dream.

I suddenly hated the world.

But I had to reassure my family first. They were looking at me so anxiously _I_ was the one worried.

'' What's wrong?'' I asked awkwardly.

'' Well,'' my dad hesitated.'' You arent—complaining. Usually you'd have something to say…by now, you know.''

'' Er—'' I said uncomfortably as I remembered.'' Oh. Right. Well, I have nothing to complain about now. In fact, I'd just like to say how much I missed you all when I was out cold.''

Chump looked horrified.

'' She's been replaced by _aliens_!'' he said hoarsely. I glared at him. Escape from a Mickey – an imaginary Mickey who was never real, I thought bitterly – only to get stuck with reality's Chump.

_It had all been a stupid dream!_

I really hated the world.

* * *

**Author's Note: Worry not, i would never end a story like that! But i would stop here for reviews ^^ Sooooo reviewreviewreviewreviewreview!!! Or i shall send Jeanie after you!**


	10. Chapter 10

_**Chapter Ten:**_

My life was never the same again.

Even though it had all been a stupid figment of my imagination, I had believed it was real so much I couldn't help the side-effects I'd picked up.

I wished it had been real, though. Wished something like that would ever happen to me again. For real.

But I just kept going.

The only difference was, I couldn't stand reading a Harry Potter book again. I didn't want to see another article related to the series for the the rest of my life.

Or at least three months. It _is_ my favorite series, after all.

Actually, that wasn't the only difference.

Suddenly, I had more friends at school. Apparently, once you've met someone as annoying as yourself, even in a dream, it cures you of being completely irritating. I still exercised my powers of annoyance, but I did it within reason. So suddenly, I made friends.

And then there was the fact that I realized how much I could memorize at a time. Turned out I had a photographic memory, and suddenly I was acing everything that required memorizing at school. Which included theorums. And since I'd been out and everything was a dream, I never got twelve out of thirty in Geometry.

Really, the theraputical effects of dreaming that you wrote Harry Potter are amazing. I should recommend it to Dr Phil. Maybe Oprah.

I mean, I knew I could make it big without cheating now. Much.

''Lara!''

''Come _on_!''

''All right already!'' I yelled back, and then with great expertise, I threw the ball I'd been holding forward, and kicked out with all my strength. Someone else reached it, and passed it to Chump, who kicked it straight into the goal.

Oh, and I discovered that I could run longer than the average invalid now when I wanted to. So I joined Chump's football team.

And it turned out I was better than him. Now I get cheered on all day. Provided I don't trip during the match, of course.

Which isn't such a bad accomplishment for someone who had previously been completely depressed from being no good at anything. Next time Jeanie – if she'd existed – called me worthless, I was going to give her a play-by-play of the last game we'd won.

Happy ending, wouldn't you think?

Wrong.

Horrible ending. The incident that had done so much had been a dream. Somehow, I felt cheated. As though it's being a dream had taken it away from me. It had been pointless, stupid, worthless.

But, with my newfound skills and things to be grateful for, I kept my mouth shut and refused to complain about it…

….in public.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

A few weeks later, I went to a second-hand bookstore to buy a couple of Agatha Christie books. I'd been on a mystery kick lately.

You know, if I'd gone back to the twenties in my dream, I should have done Agatha Christie. She was pretty successful herself. Almost more so than good ole' JK, I think.

Oh, but wait. It was a dream anyway. Plus I would have gotten guilty over that too. Happy me.

The bookstore was musty and crowded, reminding me of the back shelves of Mr Jones' store, where he'd sold the antiques. I sighed and went over to a shelf, looking around. My fingers brushed the dust on the shelves and I peered curiously at a battered copy of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

I pushed it aside roughly. Not something I wanted to be reminded of.

I went on looking. I found a copy of The A, B, C Murders, but it was so old it was practically falling apart. I moved on with a shake of my head.

'' D'you need help?'' a voice asked me, and I saw a scrawny woman with dyed blonde hair and bloodred nails three inches long smile at me helpfully.

'' Er—yeah,'' I said sweetly.

'' What would you like?''

'' I need some Agatha Christie books,'' I replied as she came forward. She gave me a simpering smile, and came closer to help.

'' Oh, for your mother, dear?'' she said conversationally as she began scanning the dusty bookshelves.

'' No, for me.''

She looked over her shoulder at me with sudden skepticism I didn't appreciate.'' You? You don't look like quite the reading type, do you now?''

I glared at her.'' What do you mean? That I look stupid?''

'' Oh, no, I would never say that,'' she said smugly as she turned back to the books. I raised an eyebrow. I did not like this lady. And I felt a sudden urge to exercise my powers of annoyance. After all, since Suit had been a dream then I hadn't done it properly in quite a while.

'' I'm glad you'd never say that,'' I said brightly.'' After all, I'd have been ever so insulted if you had. I'm quite the reader, you know.''

She snorted just loudly enough for me to hear.

'' That's nice,'' she said meaningfully.'' I always thought children nowadays were no good at all. Seems I was—mistaken.''

I laughed.'' Nowadays? I'd have thought your generation was the dumb one. Not that you give me the impression at all or anything—but I mean, your generation ruined the ozone, went to war, wrote very few good books…whereas ours is the voice of technological advances, Harry Potter, Greenpeace, stuff like that. Pretty obvious, isn't it?''

She sounded irritated as she replied.'' For your information, my generation had nothing to do with World War Two.''

'' Who said anything about that?'' I asked innocently.'' I was talking about World War One.''

She flinched visibly at the thinly disguised insult.

'' Yes,'' she snapped, now going deeper into the shelves and pushing aside books everywhere. Several of them clattered to the ground.'' If you say so. But your generation is so shallow, don't you think?''

I shrugged.'' Not really. I mean, look at us. Me, the shallow generation, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. You, the 'wise' generation, with your hair dyed yellow, your fake talons painted red, your made-up wrinkles coated with powder trying to hide your looks because of how much you care about superficial things. Kind of puts the whole 'judge by looks' thing into perspective, doesn't it?''

I smiled casually at the end of my little speech. She tensed so much as I finished I knew I'd struck a nerve somewhere. And I'd been going _easy_ on her!

She scattered books aside bad-temperedly and finally threw Murder on the Nile at me.

'' Here, take this!'' she nearly snarled before stomping away. I grinned as I examined the book once to make sure it was okay. I was about to go pay for it when it caught my eye.

One of the books the annoying lady had dropped. I leaned down to see it, my breath caught in my throat as I looked.

It was _Borderline_. The book Mickey had mentioned in my dream. One I'd never heard of, that was supposed to be a bestseller around '95.

Could it be…?

I picked it up delicately, scrutinising it in shock.

The cover had the title, '_ Borderline'_.

And underneath: _By Mickey Iypodd_.

My mouth dropped open.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Page 3 of Borderline, the page-turning thriller, by Mickey Iypodd.

_This Book is Dedicated to Lara, the Most Annoying Best Friend I Ever Had, The First But Not True Author Of Harry Potter. _

In very small font, beneath it:

_I was Chosen Too._

_But I Actually Did it Properly._

_Thanks for the Idea._

A broad grin spread over my face and suddenly I felt like everything was right where it belonged again.

Not a dream!


End file.
